Little Monsters
by Lacadiva
Summary: While investigating a 30-year old case involving government drug testing on rurual children, Mulder discovers a danagerous addiction more potent than his search for the truth.


LITTLE MONSTERS (1/6)  
  
December 1, 1997  
XF/MSR(mild), Horror  
Spoilers: Small reference to several episodes including Pusher, Duane Barry,  
and Fire  
Rating: PG13/R for Violence.  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen and Fox. No  
copyright infringement is intended, and I won't make a nickel from this, so  
please don't sue me.  
Please do not archive this unless you email and ask. I'm easy. Your comments  
are most certainly welcome.  
  
Summary: While investigating a 30-year-old case of governmental experiments on  
rural children, Mulder discovers a dangerous addiction more potent than his  
search for the truth.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"Hide me from the conspiracy of the wicked...."  
Psalm 64:2  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~FBI Headquarters  
Washington, DC  
April 14  
6:11 am  
People were rarely in the basement of the J. Edgar Hoover building this early.  
'Only the FBI's Most Unwanted,' Mulder mused as he quietly let himself into his  
own office. Quiet was essential, just in case there was someone lurking in the  
shadows. His level of paranoia was higher than usual. He was tense, nervous,  
given to moments of brutal anxiety. He was sweating right through his suit.  
His hands had developed a slight tremor. You had to look real hard to see it,  
but he knew it was there, he could feel it. He hadn't slept in days, not  
because he couldn't but because he knew he didn't have to. He also had not  
eaten in as many days. Food was not essential. The "booster" took care of  
everything.  
As he sat down at his desk, he could feel IT in his inside jacket pocket as if  
it were alive, slithering like a snake. Sweet-talking and beckoning him. He  
knitted his fingers together as if he could wait out the desire, but it was too  
strong. His attempt to go without it, to work it out of his system, was  
failing. He burned and ached from head to toe. He had spent most of the night  
before hugging the toilet, dry heaving until he thought he'd puke up a few vital  
organs. His head pounded, his eyes felt as if they were going to explode in  
their sockets. Thick, foul tasting, bile-like fluid kept building up in his  
throat and mouth, threatening to choke him. But worse were the hallucinations  
-- sporadic, all-too-real and frightening visions, almost apocalyptic in nature.  
They had slowed down, for now, but he knew they would start up again. Like in  
his shower, less than an hour ago, when the water had turned to blood and his  
towel was filled with razors that ripped his skin to shreds. What if it happen  
ed again, and he hurt himself? Or worse, what if he hurt his partner?  
He had no choice. He had to give himself another "booster". The promise of  
instant relief and temporary invincibility far outweighed the fact that he was  
about to shave another year off of his life.  
A wave of nausea hit him. He grabbed the black trashcan from under his desk and  
leaned over it, knowing nothing would come out, but feeling better having the  
can there just in case. The can was suddenly filled to the brim with a million  
pink, squirming maggots. Mulder gasped and kicked the trashcan away. It was  
empty again. He covered his face with his hands, then wiped away the tears that  
had squeezed through his tightly shut eyes. Mulder made his decision.  
He stood up and removed IT from his inside jacket pocket -- the covered h  
ypodermic needle filled with green fluid. Part narcotic, part alien DNA, part  
God only knew what else. He sat it on his desktop and stared at it. This would  
keep him going for a couple of days at least. But there was only enough at home  
for another two or three days. After that, there was no choice -- pain and  
madness were inevitable.  
He shook as an icy chill ran through his body. "One more time," Mulder said out  
loud, and he removed his jacket. He carefully unbuttoned the cuff of his once  
starched now sweat-soaked white shirt and rolled up the sleeve. He removed his  
belt, then sat down and looped the belt around his arm. Tighter, tighter,  
holding the leather strap with his teeth. He waited for the vein to bulge, then  
flipped the cap off the needle. There was a time he detested needles.  
He aimed for the vein.  
He didn't hear the door open, but felt her presence. It was like a radar signal  
going off in his head, an instant awareness of her proximity -- her soap, her  
perfume, her hair spray, her own natural perfume. He'd never noticed that kind  
of thing before. How could he have ignored it?  
Mulder let the strap fall from his mouth. Caught. "Scully, this isn't what you  
think."  
Mulder could tell how hard it was for her to keep it together. She was running  
on adrenaline. She'd had as little sleep as he and had been through so much  
more. She had almost died. And as it was so many times before, it was his  
fault.  
"No? Then what is it, Mulder?" She could not hold it together any longer. Her  
eyes turned red, stung by tears. "I haven't been able to reach you for hours.  
I was afraid you were dead already."  
Mulder trained his eyes on his arm, not wanting to look at her. A vein was  
standing up, blue-green and engorged with blood, ready to receive. "Right now,  
I wish I was."  
"Don't say that. We can beat this. Please, put it down, Mulder," she said as  
she slowly approached, holding out a hand. "You don't know what's in there.  
You don't know the long-term effects. It's destroyed so many people already.  
Don't let it destroy you."  
"I did it for you, Scully." A tear streamed down his cheek.  
"I know you did. But I'm safe now. You don't have to do this anymore. Please,  
Mulder. Put it down."  
"I can't Scully. I tried. I can't beat them without it."  
"Yes, we can, Mulder."  
"Because we're right? Because we're the good guys? No. Only the strong  
survive, Scully. Only the strong can beat them. Even if it kills me."  
"Do you really believe that?"  
"No. I want to believe."  
"Then put it down."  
"I don't have the strength. I don't think I can."  
"We have to try. Mulder, please. Please."  
Mulder jammed the needle into his arm.  
"NO!"  
* * *  
FBI Headquarters  
One Week Earlier  
8:30 a.m.  
Sometimes it was hard to work on days like this, Agent Dana Scully thought as  
she stepped into the elevator and descended to the basement level. Spring had a  
special effect on Washington, D.C. Cherry Blossoms, azaleas and such. Bold  
squirrels would actually approach you if you happened to be eating a hotdog or  
popcorn from a sidewalk vendor along Pennsylvania Avenue. Kids on skateboards  
instead of in school were out enjoying the break in the weather. By lunch time  
businessmen in shirtsleeves and business women wearing sneakers with their  
designer suits would crowd the streets as they left their gray cubicles for a  
taste of early warmth. Scully imagined taking a little walk herself at lunch.  
She could use a little color, after an exceptionally dismal winter. It was a  
shame she had to spend so much of her day cooped up in the basement, filing  
reports. She silent wished for an excuse to get out sooner.  
Entering Fox Mulder's windowless office, one might not have thought the sun was  
out at all. The lights were off, and there sat Agent Mulder on the edge of his  
desk, oblivious to the glorious day outside, staring at disturbing images  
projected on a screen.  
"Morning Agent Scully, nice of you to join us."  
"Morning, Mulder. What's the slide show? Aliens autopsies? Sewer beasts? Fat  
sucking freaks?"  
"Suicides," Mulder said dryly. "Apparent suicides."  
The images on the screen were gruesome -- self-inflicted gunshot wounds, crushed  
bodies in smashed cars, hanging victims. Scully, though never squeamish, still  
turned away from the screen.  
Mulder handed Scully a file. The unmistakable X was imprinted on it. She sat  
down with a sigh to read.  
* * *  
"I agree there are some interesting coincidences," Scully began, the image of a  
suicide victim projecting onto her dark suit as she walked by the screen. "All  
were mid-to-late thirties. All had non-professional jobs but still seemed to  
live relatively well. All were exceptionally high scholastic achievers,  
graduating from some of the top universities in the country. But look, Mulder,  
they're male and female, black and white. One lived in Manhattan, another in  
Annapolis, another in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. How can these be ritual suicides?  
There's no discernable pattern."  
"Keep reading," Mulder said.  
Scully flipped through the pages again, looking for the common thread she had  
apparently missed. "Stafford Hills," she said. And then she saw the town's  
name again. And again. "Staff -- they're all originally from the same place?"  
"Bingo," Mulder jumped up and leaned over Scully, pleased and excited at getting  
her involved in the hunt. "Stafford Hills is a tiny speck in the wilds of  
Southern Virginia. So it wouldn't be too farfetched to assume all the suicides  
knew each other. They probably played in the same sand box together."  
"I'll admit it may be more than a coincidence, but that hardly qualifies this as  
an X-file. There's nothing here that indicates paranormal phenomena. Maybe it  
was some strange suicide pact. Whatever it is, Mulder, I think you're wasting  
your time."  
"Think again," Mulder said, handing Scully another file. "An X-file from 1966.  
Go on, take a look."  
Scully opened the file, and the first two words she saw gave her pause.  
"Stafford Hills?"  
"In 1966, twelve children attending Stafford Hills Grade School disappeared over  
a 72 hour period. Eleven returned with no memory of where they'd been or what  
they'd been doing. The twelfth child disappeared without a trace. A few months  
later, the townspeople reported strange occurrences that included everything  
from missing pets to freak accidents.  
"Look at this -- a teacher from Stafford Hills Grade School was found dead in  
the woods, an apparent suicide. A little girl -- Kathy Jenkins -- receives  
first and second degree burns over sixty-five percent of her body in a classroom  
filled with kids, but nobody knows how it started. A groundskeeper was found in  
the tool shed on school property, impaled on his own rake. A few of the  
townspeople seemed to believe that the children were somehow responsible."  
"What, Children of the Damned? Come on, Mulder."  
"What if," Mulder whispered, moving closer to his partner, his excitement  
building, "these five recent suicides are somehow connected to those dis  
appearances? What if they are those disappeared kids? What if whatever  
happened to them is causing them to commit suicide thirty years later?"  
Scully fought the urge to smile. "You believe they were abducted, don't you?"  
Mulder said nothing. He reached over and turned off the slide projector, then  
turned on the office light.  
"Why don't you just compare the files," she offered, "and see if the names match  
up?"  
"The X-file from sixty-six conveniently didn't include names."  
Scully did smile this time. "More likely to protect the children than as part  
of some grand conspiracy. Barring your abduction theory, if these five suicides  
are indeed connected to the twelve disappearances, that would leave seven more  
suicides to go."  
"Six," corrected Mulder, "assuming the twelfth victim is already dead. So,  
Scully, I thought we could go poking around Stafford Hills for a few days. We  
can stop at Stuckey's for Pecan Logs."  
Scully sighed. At least it was a beautiful day.  
* * *  
October 22, 1966  
Stafford Hills, Virginia  
"Come here, my boy."  
The pale, skinny boy took one step toward the black Nova. He was afraid of the  
Bald-Headed Man. That's what they called him. He was mean, and would take them  
away, just like they took away Lacy, if they didn't obey him.  
"Closer," he said, with just a trace of a German accent.  
The boy took another step and stopped, frozen. He could feel his knees knocking  
together inside his overalls.  
Vapors rolled from the Bald Headed Man's mouth as he spoke. "I'm not going to  
hurt you. Do you understand how important you and your little friends are to  
me?"  
The boy shrugged.  
"I let you go home because I like you. But you have to be very careful. Nobody  
must know about the games we play. Making the ball dance in the air, moving the  
chair, we have to keep those games to ourselves. Do you understand? It's our  
little secret. If the others knew the games we played, I would have to go away,  
and they would take away the medicine that helps you play. Do you understand?"  
"I ain't no little kid. I unnerstand."  
"Good." Dr. Emil Vorcek patted the boy on the head, then reached into the glove  
compartment. "Oh, goodness. Look what I have here." He unfolded a white  
handkerchief. Several pea-green stained sugar cubes sat in his palm. "Treats  
for my favorite little friends."  
"Me too?"  
"And the others, yes. Would you like these?"  
The boy nodded and reached for a sugar cube. Vorcek snatched it away.  
"First, you must promise me that you'll always do as I say. Because if you  
don't, I will take the medicine away, and it will hurt. Hurt so very badly,  
worse than you can imagine. I don't want that. Do you?"  
The boy shook his head.  
Dr. Vorcek offered the cubes again and allowed the boy to take one. The boy  
quickly popped it into his mouth, then stepped back.  
"Don't forget to share these with your friends. See that they each get one."  
The boy quickly picked the cubes out of the handkerchief and dropped them into  
the pocket of his overalls. As he reached for the last one, Vorcek grabbed the  
boy by his skinny little arm and pulled him close, almost through the car  
window.  
"And if you ever try to use your skills on me," Vorcek said with a malevolent  
smile, "I will kill your mother, your father, your brothers, your little friends  
and your dog. Then I will kill you. Is that understood?"  
The sugar cube almost caught in the boy's throat. He shook his head vigorously.  
"Tell your friends, I'll do the same to them. Now go." He gave the boy a  
shove.  
The boy ran from the car on rubbery legs, back to his friends hiding in the  
woods.  
* * *  
Antiquarian Book Store  
Herndon, Virginia  
12:04 p.m.  
Robert Earl Stiegers always got a little dizzy walking down the winding metal  
stairs, especially when he had to bring down an armful of dusty old books. He  
let out a sigh of relief when he hit the bottom, then searched the store for the  
customer who had requested the musty, out-of-print volumes that sent him  
searching in the much-hated attic office of the store. Robert felt something  
behind him and gasped.  
He turned quickly and stared into the face of a woman about his own age -- 37 -  
and only an inch or two short of his six-foot frame. Her face was a deep,  
smooth mahogany. Her eyes were so dark they seemed to drink in light. Her  
mouth, painted a pale coral, twisted in an I-know-something-you-don't grin.  
'How beautiful' Robert thought for a second, until he recognized the smile, the  
face, and the odd shock of white hair mixed with long, tightly twisted  
dreadlocks. She wore all black, tight fitting pants and shirt, big Doc Marten's  
and a long leather trench coat.  
Robert felt faint. "Lacy?"  
"In the flesh."  
He tried to smile. He couldn't. His face muscles would not obey. He was  
terrified.  
"They told me you were dead."  
"Shall I quote Samuel Clemens?"  
"What do you want?"  
"Is there someplace we can talk? Someplace private?"  
Robert Earl led her up to the office. His fear was no longer of the vert  
iginous, winding stairs that squealed with every step, but of the woman so  
closely behind him.  
The office was jammed with boxes and books and unruly piles of paper. As  
always, dust instantly triggered the burning urge in Robert Earl's sinuses to  
sneeze. But he held it in, not wanting to make a sound, but desperately wishing  
he could disappear.  
Lacy closed the door, locked it and leaned back against it. "This isn't a  
social visit, Robert Earl," she said. Evidence of her smile was gone. "I know  
what you've been doing."  
"What do you mean? I haven't --"  
Lacy held up a hand and instantly Robert Earl's mind went blank -- just for a  
second -- and returned. 'What was I saying?'  
"I kept your secret all these years," she spoke in a monotonous whisper, her  
eyes fixed on Robert Earl's. "If they knew, they'd've killed you. Or worse,  
turn you into me."  
She started walking toward him slowly. "I could have told them about you a  
hundred times, but I never opened my mouth. You were my friends. My only  
friends. But now you've gone too far. I can't let you do anymore damage."  
"They threatened me. I didn't have a choice."  
"Of course you had a choice! You could have come to me."  
"I was afraid."  
Robert Earl barely blinked before Lacy moved -- actually leaped and landed atop  
the desk behind him. She grabbed him by the back of his polo shirt and yanked  
him up, off the floor, and pulled him to her until their foreheads met.  
"Do you feel better now?" she snarled. "You knew the rules. Now you pay."  
Robert Earl remembered his own power. It was certainly no match for Lacy's but  
it may be enough to buy him some time, he thought. He pushed his way into  
Lacy's brain. It wasn't easy. It was like banging his own head against a brick  
wall, but eventually he found a tiny breach through her defenses and filled it  
with imagery that made Lacy begin to shake.  
Robert Earl thought he was winning. He kept pushing. Then Lacy began to laugh.  
It was a strange cross between a hiccup and a growl. He felt nauseous as he  
realized she had been faking, playing with him. And then she threw him.  
For the second he was in the air, he was surprised to be thinking how unusual  
this was, and wondering how would he explain this to anyone who might ask. But  
when he hit the wall all wondering ceased. Stunned, he lay upon crushed boxes,  
straw and Styrofoam popcorn.  
And in a flash, Lacy jumped from the desk and landed right beside him. She  
pressed one of her Doc Martens against his chest and leaned down close.  
"Tell the others I'm onto them. Tell them, we're aware of their activities. I  
could kill you, but I know you're nothing without them. So you can be my little  
messenger, or --"  
She slipped into his mind with ease, like oil down a pipe. She saw every  
secret, every fear, every joy, every sorrow in the time it took to blink an eye.  
She latched onto of his greatest fears. Robert Earl began to howl. In an  
instant, she released him, physically and mentally.  
Lacy stood up, straightened her coat, and put on black shades. She pointed at  
the front door. The latch automatically unsnapped, and the door opened. She  
didn't have to point to it. She was just showing off. Lacy walked out without  
turning back.  
Robert Earl lay in a pool of his own urine, sweating and gurgling in fear. 'I  
have seen the devil, I have seen the devil' he thought.  
* * *  
Mr. Beckwith waited impatiently by the cash register. Robert Earl had left the  
three volumes of Irish poetry for him, but had disappeared before he could ring  
him up. And there was a tremendous amount of racket overhead.  
A very pretty, very tall Black woman descended the winding stairs with such  
grace, Mr. Beckwith could not take his eyes off of her. And then her eyes met  
his.  
A big wolf spider was suddenly on his shoulder. Mr. Beckwith hated spiders. He  
let out a shout and began slapping his shoulder, knocking books off the counter  
and knocking over displays in his frenzy to kill the furry arachnid. Then  
suddenly it was gone. So was the woman.  
Robert Earl came down the stairs. He went straight to the cash register and  
opened it.  
"It's about time," Mr. Beckwith said, still shaken by the thought of that spider  
he thought he saw. "You all right?"  
"Peachy," said Robert Earl, as he reached into the register drawer and pulled  
out a small gun. "Just peachy." He put the gun into his mouth and pulled the  
trigger.  
Beckwith screamed.  
* * *  
Southern Virginia  
3:00 p.m.  
Once past Manassas, Route 66 takes on a true rural flavor, with a few upscale  
malls thrown in between to break the monotony of hilly land and lazy cows  
grazing. It had been a long time since Mulder had just gone for a drive for the  
pure enjoyment of it. He rolled down all the windows and let the warm air  
assault them. He smiled as he stole a glance at his partner next to him,  
shimmying out of her over coat and holding back her auburn hair to let the wind  
hit her full in the face. Her cheeks were already flushed -- kissed by the sun  
and from temperatures a touch over seventy.  
Two hours later, the two agents were getting out of their bureau registered  
Taurus, stretching their legs and sizing up the town of Stafford Hills. It was  
quaint, and as expected, truly out of the way. You could go fifteen miles or  
more before realizing you'd missed the poorly displayed exit.  
Mulder popped on his shades, and with Scully began walking down the narrow Main  
Street. The old civil war era built clapboard houses all had cannons or flags  
or both in their front yards. A plow chugged down the street along side a  
pickup truck with an old yellow dog in the back. Vintage vehicles -- no doubt  
souped up to wake the dead-- were parked at the Dairy Queen and KFC. Somewhere  
nearby radios played -- John Mellencamp and Randy Travis were competing.  
An old man on a porch, drinking from a Mason jar, waved at the two agents.  
"What do you think he wants?" Mulder asked.  
"I think," said Scully, "he was just saying hello."  
"Oh. I knew that."  
* * *  
The agents entered the Stafford Hills Municipal Building ten minutes before  
closing time. The pretty blonde behind the desk, not too long out of school,  
nearly dropped her Big Gulp when the agents showed her their badges. She barely  
noticed Scully however, her eyes locked on Mulder.  
"We'd like to view the student records for Stafford Hills Grade School, n  
ineteen-sixty-five to about nineteen-seventy."  
"You need special permission for that," the blonde said, taking a seductive pull  
on her straw.  
"How do we get special permission?" Scully intervened.  
"Well," the blonde said, still directing her comments and attention to Mulder,  
"you have to come between the hours of 8:30 and 2:30, when Mr. Sheldrake is  
here. He's in charge."  
"Which means," Mulder said, leaning over the counter, playing along with the  
girl's seductive game, "that when Mr. Sheldrake's away, you're in charge?"  
"Pretty much," the girl said. "But don't say that too loud. Mr. Sheldrake's my  
dad."  
"I see. So, Miss Sheldrake --"  
"Amanda."  
"Amanda...what do my partner and I have to do to get special permission to get  
ahold of these records?"  
"Promise you won't tell nobody?"  
"Cross my heart," Mulder whispered, making a little X on the middle of his  
chest.  
Scully cleared her throat loudly.  
Amanda Sheldrake led the two agents to a dark, dank closet filled with archival  
file boxes covered with several years worth of dust and cobwebs. She pointed to  
the boxes the two agents needed, and Mulder pulled them down from the shelves.  
He and Scully dug in immediately.  
Amanda Sheldrake watched them the entire time. Rather, she watched Mulder.  
"You know, that old grade school hasn't been used in years, not since they built  
the big day school campus off route three. It's got air conditioning and they  
just put in another Olympic size swimming pool. Course, they waited till after I  
graduated to do that. Makes me so mad. Anyway, I wouldn't go near that old  
school now if somebody paid me."  
"Why not?" asked Scully.  
"I don't believe it, but folks say it's haunted."  
"Really?" said Mulder.  
"Yep. I don't think there's ghosts or nothing. Still, you won't catch me over  
there. That place gives me the creeps. They would've torn it down long time  
ago, but it's kind of a historic site, 'cause they said it was a stop on the  
Underground Railroad back in slavery times."  
"Do you know anything about the twelve kids who disappeared back in sixty-six?  
Do people talk about it much any more?"  
"Not to me. All I know is the stories I heard when I was a little. Some kids  
wandered off one day and showed up three days later. They said they were lost.  
I never been that lost before."  
"Any of them still live around here?"  
"I don't know. Maybe."  
"What about the girl that never came back?"  
"Huh?" Amanda crinkled her nose to show her confusion. "Way I heard it all of  
them came back, then one of them disappeared again."  
"Mulder," Scully interrupted, "take a look at this. A Mrs. Doris Rainey was the  
teacher, grades three through six, 1965 and 1966. Is she still around?"  
"Old crazy lady Rainey? Yeah. She's at the old folk's home down the road from  
the Dairy Queen. But you ain't gonna get much outta her. She hasn't talked to  
anyone since they put her away for kidnapping that little black girl."  
"Excuse me?" said Scully. Mulder's curiosity was peaked as well.  
"That's what I'm trying to tell you. Mizz Rainey went crazy and took that girl,  
the one who disappeared. She just up and took her one night, sneaked in her  
house while her parents were sleeping and took her. I guess they thought Mizz  
Rainey killed her and did something awful to the body, buried it somewhere or  
something, cause they never found the girl. Mizz Rainey was put in the crazy  
house for about 25 years, but now she's out and she ain't much better. All that  
time, she never told anybody what she did to that girl and she ain't spoken one  
word. I don't know if I could do that."  
Scully wanted to laugh, but instead, asked, "Do you remember the little k  
idnapped girl's name?"  
"Nope, it was way, way before my time. And I think it was a kind of unusual  
name."  
Scully and Mulder kept flipping through the dusty yellowed rosters for clues.  
Mulder stopped quickly and put his finger on the most unusual name on the list.  
There, buried under a hundred Beckys, Billys, Henry Joes and Earls:  
"Lacy Jordan?" asked Mulder.  
"I'll betcha that's it." Amanda smiled. "Wow, I'm helping the FBI. Wait till  
I tell my Uncle Frank. He's a State Trooper and --"  
"Miss Sheldrake," Mulder interrupted, "Would you mind if we borrowed these files  
overnight?"  
"If you promise you won't mess 'em up, or forget them."  
"Promise."  
"Cross your heart?" She batted her lashes.  
"Let's go, Mulder," Scully said impatiently.  
* * *  
Investors Bank  
Office Park  
5:22 p.m.  
The black monolith that housed the bank and several small financial businesses  
in the county of Stafford Hills was generally considered by most an  
architectural experiment gone sour. It was just a big ugly slab surrounded by  
empty parking spaces. And, as usual, by five o'clock, office workers spilled out  
of the building and headed home, leaving Peyton Grey to the silence and  
emptiness of the hi-tech monstrosity he had secretly designed.  
In the cavernous black and chrome conference room, Peyton Grey cranked up the  
air conditioner to near freezing, turned down the lights, opaqued the windows  
and sat a the head of the table. He often sat for hours that way, sometimes  
until well after midnight, conducting what he called his side job. He had an  
extraordinary talent, one people were willing to pay him insane amounts of money  
to use on their behalf.  
It didn't matter to him that sometimes innocents had to die.  
He placed his thick palms on the black lacquered conference table, the coolness  
sending a shiver through him. He never understood this affinity for cold; it  
must have had something to do with the booster. After his first booster, he was  
never quite the same. Even before the booster he believed he was different from  
everybody else -- from his family, his classmates, literally everyone. For a  
while this bothered him -- how could he live in a world where normal people  
bored him? And then he met Dr. Vorcek, and he had given him the booster.  
Peyton concentrated on his work. His mind stretched out to find his target. A  
million thoughts of a million strangers raged in his head. He could "see" the  
thoughts and feel the emotions of everyone as he briefly touched them. He could  
recognize in an instant their weaknesses and failures. How miserable these  
people were. How easy it would be to simply zap each one of them out of their  
misery. A stroke here, a heart attack there.  
The old Bald Headed Man was still living, but hardly alive. His body was  
failing him. He could barely see or hear. His muscles were weak and his old  
withered legs were useless. Each day Peyton chipped away a little bit more of  
the old man, increasing his agony, but never letting him die. He hadn't needed  
Vorcek in years, not since he had learned on his own to manufacture the  
"medicine."  
Peyton was concentrating on the steady, painful movement of a blood clot when a  
new thought, an energy like his own but not as powerful interrupted. Peyton  
opened his eyes as Virginia Scurlock entered the conference room.  
She hadn't changed much since childhood. She was still short and thin and pale  
to an unhealthy cast. Undernourished as a child due to circumstance,  
undernourished as an adult because of vanity. Her hair was teased high and fell  
low, as was the fashion in this neck of the woods. She wore pink far more often  
than most people would deem appropriate and reminded him of a mouse caught in  
one of those sticky traps -- constantly struggling to be free, until it  
ultimately tore itself apart.  
"Peyton," she said in a strangled whisper, "Frank just called. Robert Earl is  
dead. Shot himself in his store."  
"I know. I felt it when it happened."  
"They're on to us. They're killing us off one by one."  
"Don't panic Ginny. We can't panic now. We got enough in the kitty to go away  
and never come back."  
"It ain't about the money no more! They know what we're doing, and they're  
gonna come after and us AND THEY'RE GONNA KILL US!"  
"Ginny!"  
Ginny felt the inside of her head become cold and tingly, like her brain was  
becoming numb. "Stop it, Peyton!"  
The numbness began to subside.  
"I know you're scared, Ginny girl, but fear will destroy us. We gotta keep  
ourselves together if we want to survive this. Remember that. We're short now,  
ain't but you and me and Clarence and Frank and Debralee left. We gotta be a  
team, or we're as good as dead. Are you with me, Ginny?"  
Ginny nodded. She just wanted to run. But she knew it wouldn't take much for  
Peyton to reach out and find her and she'd be on a slab in her Uncle Ned's  
funeral home.  
Peyton stood and approached Ginny, putting his arms around her. He knew the  
slightest show of affection would always bring her around. It never took much.  
"You go call Frank and Clarence and Debralee. Let 'em know what's happened if  
they don't already know. And tell them we have to have a meeting. We got a  
couple more big jobs to do and then we can get the heck out of the country and  
start our family. You ready for that?"  
Ginny nodded. She had to work hard to keep Peyton for seeing how she really  
felt.  
* * *  
Stafford Hills Grade School  
The land surrounding the crumbling condemned one-room schoolhouse looked like a  
dead forest out of a dark fairy tale. A light rain was beginning to fall,  
putting a oily sheen on the branches and dead leaves.  
Inside the school, several buckets and plastic containers were placed around the  
room to catch rain leaking from the old roof. A broken down upright piano that  
once led children in song was now a nest to rats. Broken, spider web infested  
desks and chairs were piled in a corner like old bones. In a back corner,  
however, a small but technically advanced array of portable surveillance  
equipment was hiding under protective heavy tarp.  
Lacy entered the old school room and powered up the generator. It coughed,  
sputtered, then kicked to life. A dim lamp near her surveillance console cast a  
yellow glow on the room.  
Lacy looked around, and could not help but remember. She could almost hear the  
voice of her old classmates screaming, laughing, and taunting.  
She whipped the tarp away and sat in a broken chair. She turned on the tape  
recorder and listened to the conversation of her surveillance subjects as it was  
being recorded.  
"I know you're scared, Ginny girl, but fear will destroy us. We gotta keep  
ourselves together if we want to survive this..."  
A laugh escaped her coral lips.  
Lacy continued listening to the surveillance tape as she removed her heavy  
leather coat and tied a rubber tube around her arm. From a silver case, she  
took a syringe filled with cloudy green liquid. As soon as a thick vein bulged  
she pumped the syringe for air bubbles, then jabbed the needle into the vein.  
The nausea lasted only a few seconds. When she was little, the green stuff  
would make her sick for days. Eventually, it became hours, then minutes. She  
was just beginning to feel normal, when the pain hit. That stabbing pain in her  
head, right at the base of her skull. The green stuff used to help keep the  
pain at bay, but not anymore. She was getting worse. The pains were coming  
more often and stronger impeding her concentration. They warned her it would be  
this way. Another pain, stronger than the last hit her with such force that she  
was knocked out of her chair and onto the floor.  
"I'M IN CHARGE!"  
Instantly the pain began to subside, leaving her trembling, weak, sweaty, and  
momentarily disoriented.  
Lacy pulled herself off of the floor and back into the chair. She took a deep  
breath and concentrated on the surveillance tape, and fantasized about Peyton  
Grey's death.  
Stafford Hills County Home for the Aged  
7:00 p.m.  
The agents pulled up in front of the Home. Men well over seventy-five sat on  
the clapboard porch playing board games and snoozing. The ones where were awake  
never took their eyes off the agents. One gray hair gentleman took an immediate  
liking to Agent Scully and offered her a lascivious wink. She pretended she  
didn't see it, and the look in on her face told Mulder to do the same. His  
smirk died as they entered the old house.  
As they introduced themselves to the head nurse on duty, someone upstairs was  
howling. A doctor and two attendants were racing up stairs. "Don't fret," she  
assured the agents. "That's Mr. Emil. There's always something wrong with him.  
How can I help you?"  
* * *  
"I don't know what you expect to get out of her," the nurse said as she lead  
Mulder and Scully up the stairs to the now quiet hall of bedrooms, "but good  
luck. She ain't said a word since before Nixon." The nurse opened the door.  
At a window, bathed in the last bit of waning sunlight, sat an old woman in a  
wheel chair. White hair cascaded down her sloped back.  
"Call me if you need me," the nurse advised, then left them alone.  
"Ms. Rainey?" Scully said in her lowest register. "Ms. Rainey, we're with the  
FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions concerning a few of your former  
students."  
No response. Not a sound, not a movement.  
Mulder took his turn. "Ms. Rainey, we understand you were a teacher at Stafford  
Hills Grade School the year the children disappeared."  
Instantly the wheel chair turned around, and the woman, thin as a rail, with the  
look of sheer fright on her face, rolled toward them at such a speed, both  
agents took a step back. The woman stopped right in front of them.  
"I knew somebody would hear me someday!"  
* * *  
'She looks like the Crypt Keeper,' Mulder couldn't stop thinking when he first  
saw the face of Doris Rainey. But the thought died when she spoke. Everything  
they had heard about the woman so far was untrue. She was quite a talker. She  
literally pulled the agents into the room, insisted they lock the door and close  
the blinds before she would tell them anything.  
She beckoned the agents to sit on her old, worn Victorian couch.  
"I was one of the first white teachers in all of Stafford County to allow black  
children in my class room. I did not abide separation of any kind. Even when  
the rest of the town talked about me, called me horrible names. Even when I  
woke up one night to find a cross burning in my front yard. I have always  
believed in this county, and loved it. But I cursed it the day the vans  
arrived."  
Scully's eyes widened. "The vans?"  
"I can trust you, can't I? If they had sent you, you'd have killed me and gone  
by now."  
"You can trust us," assured Mulder. "Tell us about the vans."  
The old woman took a deep breath.  
"We received word that what they called Health Mobiles would be visiting our  
school from time to time to provide the children with health care their parents  
could not afford. Stafford Hills has always been a desperately poor county. I  
thought, how wonderful! A need would be fulfilled. But I knew from the moment  
they arrived in those big metal monstrosities that something was terribly wrong.  
"You see, they would not allow any teachers to accompany the children inside the  
vans. They said it would intimidate the children, but how could that be? They  
trusted me more than they trusted their own parents most times. And we were  
discouraged from asking the children questions about what went on inside those  
vans. I heard the children mention sugar cubes, that they were getting medicine  
on sugar cubes. I thought, how odd...the county was already providing polio  
vaccines on sugar cubes free of charge. When I inquired, I was told to keep to  
the business of teaching. And then I noticed that some of my children were  
becoming very ill. And once a week, like clockwork, those vans would arrive."  
Mrs. Rainey wheeled slowly towards a steamer trunk at the foot of her bed. Her  
arthritic fingers shook as she dialed the combination lock. Mulder and Scully  
both came to her aid, opening the trunk for her.  
"This, of course, " continued Mrs. Rainey, "made me all the more curious. So I  
borrowed my brother's Bell and Howell and took home movies."  
Mrs. Rainey reached into the trunk and pulled out a small silver film can. She  
gave it to Scully. Scully opened it and pulled out a plastic gray reel with  
brownish 8mm film.  
"There isn't much footage," Mrs. Rainey went on, "but you'll understand once  
you've seen it."  
"What prevented you," Scully asked, "from showing this until now?"  
"I never knew who to trust."  
Mulder took the film reel from Scully and pulled out a few feet. He held the  
strip up to the light, but could not see much.  
"Do you remember," he asked, "the night twelve children disappeared?"  
"As if it were yesterday."  
"Do you know where they went?"  
"I believe they were taken."  
"By whom?"  
"The men in the vans."  
"The children were in your class?"  
"They were all in my class. Would you like their names?"  
Mulder pulled from his inside jacket pocket the folded class roster. She  
provided them with names of every child involved, except one.  
"What about Lacy Jordan?" asked Mulder.  
Doris Rainey went pale. Her bottom lip began to quiver. She shook her head.  
"Why did you kidnap her?"  
"I was trying to save that child. She was such a bright girl, so smart, so  
quick. She didn't ask for that, what they did to her. But they wanted her. I  
had to get her away from them, but they found us, followed us in the middle of  
the night, and they took her."  
"Who?"  
"They broke the window of my Impala, and pulled her right through it, like she  
was a rag doll. I held onto her for dear life..."  
She pulled a small, worn black patent leather shoe with a broken buckle out of  
the trunk and shined it against her dressing gown. She reverently replaced it  
among her keepsakes.  
"...but those men were determined to have her. I still hear that poor child  
screaming in my sleep sometimes.  
And I still see the face of that man in the black sedan, so young, but so  
evil, smiling and smoking, smoking and smiling."  
Mulder immediately shot a look at Scully. No other description was necessary.  
"What about Kathy Jenkins?" Mulder asked.  
"I tried to put it out," Mrs. Rainey said, holding up her hands. For the first  
time, Mulder and Scully noticed the old scar tissue among the wrinkles.  
"Kathy Jenkins' little ragged dress went up like paper. The sheriff's report  
said she was most likely playing with matches. Most likely."  
"How do you think it happened?" asked Mulder.  
"They did it. The children. Those little monsters. That's what they made  
them. Little monsters."  
End part 1  
Please email comments to 'Lacadiva@aol.com'. Don't stay in the lines.  
LITTLE MONSTERS (2/6)  
by  
Lacadiva (@aol.com)  
December 1, 1997  
Disclaimer in Part 1.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Southern Virginia  
Route 27  
8:34 p.m.  
The gray Taurus was the only vehicle on the winding, narrow highway. The high  
beams barely cut through the thickness and completeness of the backcountry  
night. Rain was falling rather hard now, each drop racing toward the windshield  
and splattering violently against it.  
The temperature had dropped as well. So much for an early spring, though  
Scully. She had insisted upon driving, but now, with the road so slippery, she  
wished she hadn't volunteered so quickly. Mulder was using a pen-sized  
flashlight and read the notes and school records over and over again. He banged  
the penlight against his forehead when the battery began to die and the light  
dimmed. It didn't help.  
"I can hear it, Scully."  
"Hear what?"  
"The wheels and gears of skepticism turning in your brain."  
"I feel like we're chasing our tails, Mulder."  
"Am I chasing yours, or are you chasing mine?"  
"All we have are a few strange and random events and we're trying to weave the  
pieces together into a big conspiracy. It just isn't making sense to me,  
Mulder. How dependable is this Doris Rainey? I mean, everyone says she won't  
talk and as soon as we show up, she's spewing like Old Faithful. How do we know  
she's not just telling us what we want to hear?"  
"The five suicides were from her class, Scully."  
"I'm not saying an investigation isn't warranted. I'm simply questioning the  
angle you are pursuing."  
"You heard her, Scully. One minute, little Kathy Jenkins is reading 'Fun With  
Dick and Jane,' and the next she's a bonfire. They used those kids--"  
"'They' who, Mulder? We still don't even know who 'they' are."  
"She described who was responsible, or have you forgotten all about our c  
igarette smoking friend?"  
"That could have been anyone, Mulder." Scully took a deep breath, holding on  
tightly to the steering wheel. "I see where you're going with this. Health  
mobiles were not uncommon. Disappearing children, tragic but not uncommon. Do  
you really believe the Government would sanction the use of experimental drugs  
on innocent, indigent children --"  
"Yes. And you do, too."  
"But to what end? What on earth was their objective here?"  
"Little monsters."  
Scully could feel the car being momentarily taken by the slipperiness of the  
road. She adjusted and gripped the steering wheel harder.  
"All right, Mulder. I will for the moment entertain the suggestion that someone  
may have exploited these children. But until we know more, I cannot subscribe  
to your theory. I need proof Mulder. Give me proof."  
"Fine. First, let's get Doris Rainey's home movie transferred to videotape.  
Then, we'll go down the list and run a check on each member of the class and  
find out where they are. Let's start with -- Peyton Grey."  
Investors Bank  
Office Park  
8:05 p.m.  
Peyton kept the room so dark that Ginny could barely see the faces at the  
conference table. Clarence Harvey was there. She remembered being eight and  
hearing her father, drunk, calling Clarence and his father terrible names, and  
warning her to stay away from him and "those people." Yet here they were in the  
same room, sitting in the dark and holding hands.  
Clutching her other hand was Franklin Pickett. Frank's palms were sweaty, just  
like when they were kids. And he still mumbled under his breath. She  
remembered that his hair fell out after his first booster -- even his eyelashes  
and eyebrows. His hair never grew back. This along with his State Trooper  
uniform made Frank oddly attractive to Ginny.  
And there was Debralee. She wasn't doing so well. Debralee was close to Robert  
Earl. His death hit her harder than anyone else at the table. Her mousy brown  
hair hung limp and obscured her face, which was red and puffy from crying. She  
hadn't cried this much since she'd lost her twin sister.  
Ginny would also miss Robert Earl. Robert Earl was gentle. He liked old books  
and herbal tea. He was shy around women and never quite knew how handsome he  
really was, Ginny thought. She would miss the way he would --  
"GINNY!"  
Peyton's voice startled her so terribly she nearly leaped out of the chair.  
"Concentrate on your work."  
Ginny settle back, took a deep breath, and concentrated hard. This was always  
difficult for her. Her mind loved to wander. But what they were doing would  
fail without the concerted effort of each person at the table. And it didn't  
help that their number had been cut short. She closed her eyes and zeroed in on  
the image as Peyton had instructed. See the plane, he'd said. See the airplane  
in your head. And see it going down....  
* * *  
Stafford Motor Inn  
9:15 p.m.  
The television was on, but the sound was down. Some idiotic sitcom had been  
thankfully interrupted for a special report, but Mulder was hardly paying  
attention. He paced the tiny room, stretching the phone cord the entire length.  
He had been asked to hold for an inordinate amount of time. He was getting  
antsy.  
Mulder looked out of the window and could see red flashing from the neon vacancy  
sign a few windows down. Nothing stirred outside. Just the rain. He wondered  
what Scully was doing next door. The walls were so thin he could hear the  
shower running earlier, and knew the moment when she was done. He felt a little  
guilty. He never paid that much attention to Alex Krychek's coming and goings.  
He stayed with the image of Krychek, his fist pummeling his pretty-boy face.  
Better to imagine whipping the crap out of that turncoat than imagining his  
redheaded partner naked and wet from the shower.  
"Are you still there?"  
The voice of the old man startled him. "Yes! I'm still here. I'm trying to  
locate a Peyton Grey. I understand he lives --"  
"Mr. Grey has not lived here for several years," said the voice on the other  
end. It was dripping with irritation.  
"Would you have any idea where I might find him?"  
"Not at this hour. You city folks may not mind getting calls all times of the  
night, but that don't chop cotton out her in God's country. People need their  
sleep."  
"I can appreciate that," said Mulder. "But this is an emergency. If you hear  
from him, would you please have him contact me here at the Stafford Inn, or call  
the FBI in Washington, DC? It's important."  
Click.  
So much for the kindness of country folk. Mulder sat down on the bed just as  
there was a knock at his door.  
"It's open."  
Scully walked in. She looked tired, thought fresh from the shower. Her auburn  
hair was still damp, and she was wearing a dark green sweatsuit.  
"Anything?" she asked.  
"Not much. Peyton Grey still lives in Stafford Hills but no one seems to know  
where. He works for the Investment Bank. I left a voice mail for him. I also  
found the house he used to rent. Think I ticked off the landlord. Nothing yet  
on Virginia Scurlock, but Franklin Pickett is a Virginia State Trooper. We can  
check him out right after Peyton Grey first thing."  
Mulder glanced at the television set. "Whoa, look at this." He grabbed the  
remote control and turned up the volume. On the screen was the result of an  
airline disaster. A plane had crashed just moments after receiving landing  
clearance. The wreckage of the jumbo jet was burning out of control. According  
to the newscaster, the number of casualties could reach well over 200.  
"Terrorists?" Scully asked.  
"I don't know." He had enough. He muted the set again and turned to his  
partner. "What did you find out? Better luck than me I hope."  
"I think so. Nothing yet on Debralee Jenkins, though I'm willing to bet she's  
related to the deceased Kathy Jenkins. Clarence Harvey has a small estate  
approximately ten miles south of here. I say we pay him a neighborly visit  
first thing in the morning."  
"Why wait?" Mulder grabbed his trench coat. "Let's piss off some more country  
folk. Get changed. I'll warm up the Taurus."  
Harvey Estate  
10:04 p.m.  
Clarence Harvey always did the same three things when he got home late like  
this. First, he would put on his favorite CD, a collection of classical tunes  
cleverly called "Bravo, Beethoven." Next, he would place a frozen dinner in the  
microwave and put on a pot of Kona coffee. While the food nuke and the coffee  
brewed, he would take a walk out to his modest stable and check on his horses.  
Three beautiful mares. He'd paid incredible amounts of money for them, but they  
were worth it.  
He fed them, brushed them, talked to them. He told them his troubles. He told  
his horses things he would never tell people. He never trusted people. Not  
even his family. And especially not Peyton Grey.  
What they had done tonight made Clarence shudder. He never worried much about  
doing things to people who deserved it. But how could he justify killing 203  
people just because a "foreign investor" wanted one of the passengers dead, and  
needed it to look like an accident? If anyone knew the horrible things he had  
done, and allowed to be done....  
But the money he made allowed him to buy and take care of his mares. At least  
there was some joy in his life. He picked up a brush and started brushing his  
favorite horse. "Atta girl, Maddie...atta girl..."  
He felt the hair on the back of his neck begin to prickle, as if lightning was  
about to strike. That was his true talent. Not so much as making things  
happen, as knowing when something was about to occur. Lightning did strike, and  
in the split-second flash of white light Clarence saw a figure silhouetted  
against the hill in the horizon. He blinked once, twice, and the figure was  
gone. When he turned back to strap a feedbag on Maddie, he realized he was no  
longer alone.  
"Hello, Clarence."  
Thunder rumbled. Clarence dropped the feedbag.  
"Lacy..."  
The last time he saw Lacy, they were just kids. She had once given him a look  
that scared him so badly that he wet his pants. He remembered standing in line  
for a fire drill and feeling the hairs on the back of his neck prickle up, just  
like now.  
Thunder rumbled again like the stomach of an angry beast.  
* * *  
The Taurus pulled up to the driveway of Clarence Harvey's estate. The front door  
was open and several lights were on.  
Mulder stepped out of the car into the drizzle, followed by Scully on the  
passenger side.  
"I thought it was a myth," said Mulder.  
"What?"  
"That people in the country didn't lock their doors."  
"It is," said Scully. Both agents reached inside their coats and pulled out  
their guns.  
They climbed the steps and checked the corners of the verandah, then knocked and  
the screen door.  
"Hello?" Scully called out. "Mr. Harvey? We're with the FBI. We'd like to  
speak to you."  
No answer. Just the sound of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Mulder nodded and  
entered with Scully watching his back.  
Inside the house, the smell of coffee and spicy tomato sauce reminded the agents  
that neither had eaten for several hours. Scully found herself wishing she had  
a Pecan Log.  
Mulder pointed to the full, steaming pot of coffee and the clean mug waiting on  
the sink. Scully found the frozen dinner dried and withered beyond visual  
recognition in the microwave. Mulder peered out of the window.  
"There's a light on in the stable. Wanna see the horsies, little girl?"  
* * *  
Mulder pushed the door open with a big foot and Scully raced in, gun ready.  
Mulder followed. The horses were agitated, upset. It was no wonder. Mulder  
and Scully found Clarence Harvey. He was impaled through the gut to the wooden  
stable wall by a pitchfork. His eyes were still opened. He twitched once.  
"Call an ambulance," Scully cried as she raced to the body and felt for signs of  
life. "Better make that a coroner."  
Mulder ran out of the stable to find his cell phone. He was sure he'd left it  
somewhere in the car. He opened the door and peered inside. As he did,  
headlights-- brights-- flashed on, blinding him. Mulder raised a hand to shield  
his eyes and pulled out his gun. He heard an engine gunning, the vehicle  
heading for him, but his eyes had yet to adjust. He couldn't see anything. He  
fired once into the air as a warning, but it made no difference.  
Mulder moved to leap out of the vehicle's way, but he was too late to clear  
himself. The car slammed into Mulder's side, winding him, knocking him hard to  
the ground.  
Scully was at his side seconds later.  
"Don't move! Keep still!" she demanded.  
The car screeched away over the damp road, into the night.  
"Aaaaaccch!" Mulder tried to rise, despite Scully's attempts to keep him down.  
He clutched his side and hissed through his teeth.  
"I said keep still! You may have a couple of broken ribs."  
"Say it ain't so."  
* * *  
Harvey Estate  
11:21 p.m.  
Stafford County Sheriff Irving Tucker was a nice, amiable individual, just the  
kind of lawman one would expect to find in a small town. He walked around the  
taped off crime scene overseeing the work his men and women were doing, making  
sure no one missed a single piece of evidence. He was very saddened by the  
death of Clarence Harvey, but he was also excited -- this was Stafford Hills'  
first real murder investigation in over a decade.  
Mulder leaned against the Taurus hugging his aching side. He thought the pain  
would have begun to subside by now, but it only seemed to be getting worse. It  
hurt whenever he inhaled. It was getting harder and harder to hide this from  
his partner.  
Scully divided herself equally between monitoring the investigation and hovering  
over Mulder. "You okay?" she would ask between requesting a finger print check  
or the collection of fiber samples or molding for mudprints.  
"I'm fine.  
"You need to be in a hospital."  
"The paramedic already wrapped me."  
"You need x-rays to determine the extent of the damage, Mulder. There could be  
internal bleeding. A broken rib could puncture a lung, and -- "  
"Noted and filed. What have you found?"  
"Not much. And you didn't see anything? The driver? The make of the car?"  
"The brights were on. I was blinded."  
Sheriff Tucker wandered over, and all three watched as attendants carried and  
loaded Clarence Harvey's covered body into the coroner's wagon.  
"This is kinda odd for me," Tucker confessed. "I knew Clarence from when he was  
in high school."  
"How well did you know him?" Mulder asked.  
"'Bout as well as I know everybody else in this community. It's my job. He was  
always a little stranger than most, though. Kept to himself mostly, especially  
after his folks died."  
"Were you in Stafford Hills the night Clarence and eleven other children  
disappeared?"  
"Nope. I was a kid myself 'round then, living over in Faquier County. Funny  
you should mention that."  
"Why's that?"  
"We had a fire at the police station not two weeks ago. Not much damage, except  
for some incident reports, including the those old sixty-six reports about those  
kids."  
"What was the cause?"  
"Unknown. I figured one of the deputies was probably smoking, but there's no  
evidence to substantiate that."  
"Did Clarence happen to pay the office a visit around the time of the fire?"  
"Not to my knowledge. What are you getting at, Agent Mulder?"  
"I dunno. Just a theory. Anything strange every happen while Clarence was  
around?"  
"Anytime Clarence was around strange things happened. I remember once hearing  
'bout how he'd pissed off his poppa something fierce. Must've back-talked or  
something. Anyway, the old man tended to drink and get a little loud. Got mad  
one night and threw a jar of peach preserves at Clarence. I don't know what  
kinda spin he put on that jar, but it came tearing back at the old man like a  
boomerang. Old man got fourteen stitches and a concussion. Strange part is,  
Clarence always said he did it."  
"You mean he threw it?"  
"No, sir. He thought it."  
* * *  
Route 29  
October 18, 1966  
"The boy showed negligible results, as did the rest of the children. Oh, they  
could guess a few shapes on the backs of cards correctly, but beyond that, I  
would consider them in my professional opinion to be of no further consequence  
to the project. The girl, however, she's is a different story."  
Cigarette smoke swirled around the other man's face as they walked along the  
lonely stretch of highway. "The black girl? I've seen what she can do.  
Impressive, indeed, but I can't exactly parade her around my superiors. Are you  
sure about the boy?"  
"You don't trust me?"  
"Of course I trust you, Emil. After all, I brought you in on this project.  
We'll take the girl."  
He shook out a Morely and proffered it to Dr. Vorcek. "Cigarette?"  
"Thank you, my friend."  
* * *  
The Stafford Motor Inn  
8:20 am  
When Scully knocked on Mulder's door the next morning to check on him, she found  
him dressed in a crisp white shirt and UFO tie, already at work and on the  
phone. He gestured her in, then grabbed his side, that slight movement enough  
to make him bend over in pain.  
"Got it, thanks." Mulder hung up. "You're not gonna believe this, Scully."  
Mulder grabbed his suit jacket and tried to put it on slowly. Every movement  
sent pain jack-hammering through his chest and side. Scully grabbed the jacket  
and helped him slip it on.  
"I can't believe you still refuse to see a doctor."  
"It's not that bad. Listen, Clarence Harvey's parents both died of massive  
strokes on the same night within hours of one another."  
"Who went first?"  
"Mr. Harvey, why?"  
"It doesn't happen often, but wives have been known to die following the death  
of their spouses, sometimes weeks, days or hours after, and often under the same  
or similar circumstances."  
Mulder sighed Why couldn't she see things his way?  
"My money says Clarence Harvey's responsible. Let's go."  
"Where are we going?"  
* * *  
Scully drove, heading towards the Stafford Office Park. She knew her partner  
wouldn't last the day going by the pinched look on his face. He was in pain but  
too obsessed by the chase to pay attention to his health. One more grunt,  
though, she promised herself, and she would turn the car about and find a  
hospital.  
Mulder was fighting with his cell phone. He kept getting cut off and having to  
re-dial, only to be cut off again.  
"Yes, this is Special Agent Fox Mulder again. What were you saying? What do  
you mean 'mislaid'? How do you mislay a body? What? Hello! Damn it! This is  
worse than AOL," Mulder grunted. As he pocketed his phone, another spasm of  
pain made him wince again.  
"Mulder!"  
"I'm fine! Just sore. Listen, that was the county coroner. Clarence Harvey's  
body was 'mislaid'."  
"Mislaid? You mean they lost it? They lost the body?"  
"That's the story. They 'expect to find it soon'. I expect they won't. It's  
starting, Scully. Disappearing evidence. Disappearing corpses. Don't leave  
your laptop in your motel room. The killer is so far ahead of us. Four more to  
go. Where's the list?"  
"Wait a minute, Mulder. You think all of the victims were murdered? You don't  
believe they were suicides anymore?"  
"I believe the killer somehow forced them to kill themselves, which, tech  
nically, makes it murder, yes. Each of those supposed suicides were carefully  
orchestrated murders, designed to look like random, unrelated suicides. The  
killer got sloppy with Clarence Harvey."  
"Mulder, how do you make a half a dozen people commit suicide?"  
"Does the name Modell remind you of anything?"  
"Modell? But he's --"  
"Not Modell, but the twelfth kid. The one Ma Rainey tried to hijack."  
"Lacy Jordan? Mulder, you've lost me."  
"C'mon, Scully, we've seen it before. Government experiments. Drug-induced  
psychokinesis. Better soldiers through chemistry. All of it being conducted  
right at the height of the Vietnam War. Eleven of those kids were failures, so  
they let them go. Erased their memories of the incidents -- the tests, the  
drugs -- and sent them merrily on their way. But one kid, one kid becomes the  
star pupil, and this kid comes back to take care of the others."  
"But why? Why come back and kill her old classmates after thirty years? What,  
did they pick at her relentlessly and she never got over it? What's the point,  
Mulder? What's the motive?"  
"I don't know yet, but AAAAAhhhhh!" Mulder doubled over and held his side when  
the car hit a pothole and lurched. He grabbed the dashboard with the other hand  
to steady himself.  
"That's it!" Scully cried. We're finding the nearest hospital."  
Mulder looked up, red faced and teary eyed. Something ahead caught his a  
ttention.  
"No, wait Scully," he said through clenched teeth. "Stop the car."  
"Mulder --"  
"Pull over here. Pull over!"  
Scully pulled off the road and stopped the car. Mulder stared at the old broken  
down structure at the very top of the hill. He forgot all about his injury as  
he climbed out of the car and began walking up the overgrown path toward the old  
Stafford Hills Grade School building.  
When Scully realized where they were, she was out of the car in seconds and  
caught up with her partner quickly. Both agents headed towards the old  
building, but stopped within twenty feet. They could not go any further.  
Neither one knew why. Both pulled their service weapons.  
Mulder saw his partner physically shudder. "You felt it, too, didn't you?" he  
asked, as a thin stream of cold sweat ran down the middle of his back.  
The agents saw movement inside the building, through broken out windows. A  
figure in a long black leather trench coat and Doc Martens came out of the  
crumbling building. Her finely twisted dreadlocks were splayed across her  
shoulders. And she had the strangest patch of white hair.  
"Can I help you?" the woman asked cordially. She pulled back her black trench  
as if showing the agents that she was not armed.  
Mulder and Scully both held up their I.D.'s. Both were too far away for anyone  
to read their names without coming closer, but to the agents' amazement, she  
did.  
"Agent...Mulder...and Agent...Scully. What can I do for the FBI?"  
"You can start by telling us who you are and what you're doing here," Scully  
said flatly.  
"I'm thinking about buying this land. Great old school house, isn't it?"  
'Incredible eyes," Scully thought of the odd woman standing before her. She  
fought to ignore a weird tugging in the back of her mind, as if she was being  
split between two competing activities, both demanding her full attention.  
"People say this land is haunted," Scully said, a little to loudly, trying to  
keep herself in the moment.  
"I never believed in ghost stories. Monsters, demons, not me."  
Scully looked over at Mulder. Strangely, he hadn't said a word. He was staring  
at the woman, his eyes locked on hers. It was more than staring. It seemed  
more like he was being held.  
"Mulder...?"  
Mulder didn't hear his partner calling him. His eyes were fixed on the strange  
woman. There was a moment when he thought he had heard the woman's voice yet  
her mouth had not moved.  
The woman took a step closer. "There's nothing here. Nothing. Now, get off my  
land. Please."  
Mulder took a step forward, but one step was all he could take. Something held  
him back, something not from within, but strangely from without. "We just want  
to know --"  
The woman held up a hand. Time stopped for both agents. Just for a few  
seconds.  
When time resumed, the woman was gone.  
"Damn it, Scully! Mulder and Scully both spun around, searching the area for  
the woman in the black trench coat. She was gone. Just gone.  
"Which way...which way did she go?"  
Mulder made a move toward the old school house, but again, something stopped  
him, something he could not identify.  
"Did you feel it, Scully? We should have stopped her! We should have --"  
Mulder doubled over in pain, dropping his Sig Sauer.  
"That's it. I'm taking you to the emergency room, now!" Scully grabbed Mulder  
to to help him back to the car, retrieving her partners service weapon.  
"No! Scully, I think it was her! I think it was Lacy Jordan."  
"Maybe it was, but we can't deal with her now."  
"Scully!"  
"Don't fight me on this! You need medical attention!"  
"She's getting away!"  
"She got away."  
"We have to find her. Place her under arrest."  
"And charged her with what?"  
"I don't know. How about suspicion of being spookier than me?"  
End Part 2  
Send forth thy comments to 'Lacadiva@aol.com'  
Du-dah-dah-dah.  
LITTLE MONSTERS (3/6)  
by  
Lacadiva (@aol.com)  
December 1, 1997  
Disclaimer in Part 1.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Stafford Hills County Hospital  
11:21 am  
Scully yanked hard on the vending machine knob, until the candy bar came  
tumbling out. She ripped of the wrapper and took a bite. Stale. She dropped  
the offending bar into a nearby trash can and wandered back to the waiting room.  
Mulder appeared a few moments later, looking cowed. Chewed out hard by the  
doctor, no doubt, for not seeking medical attention sooner.  
"How are the ribs?" Scully asked.  
"Tender," said Mulder, "but I recommend the chicken."  
"Ha, ha."  
"The doctor says they're not broken, but badly bruised. She says I should take  
it easy a couple of days."  
"Now that's funny."  
"You know me."  
"Why don't I drop you off at the motel. You can get some rest and I will go see  
Peyton Grey."  
"I'm okay, I can go..."  
Scully shot him a look; he knew better than to argue.  
"We can take a look at this, too." Scully pulled an unlabeled videocassette  
from her trench coat pocket.  
Mulder's lips curved into a lascivious grin.  
"Scully, is that what I think it is?"  
"Actually it's the video transfer of Mrs. Rainey's eight-milimeter footage. I  
called the lab and had them deliver it here, just to be on the safe side."  
"Good work."  
The agents walked across the parking lot side by side. Scully kept her pace  
slow to accommodate Mulder's condition. She unlocked the door on the  
passenger's side and held the door open for Mulder. He did not get in right  
away.  
"Mulder, what is it?"  
"Have you ever known me to back down so easily?"  
"You're still thinking about that odd woman."  
"Lacy Jordan."  
"We don't know for sure."  
"What stopped us? What stopped us from questioning her, or checking out the  
school house?"  
"Lack of evidence?"  
"She did something to us, Scully."  
"Please don't tell me," Scully said as she walked around to the driver side,  
"you think she put the whammy on us."  
Mulder stared at his partner over the roof of the car. "Scully, look me in the  
eye and tell me you didn't feel something."  
Scully looked away, pursing her lips. "All right. I'll admit it. I did feel  
something. I was distracted. It was like my body was one place, and my mind  
another. And there was this odd sense of dread."  
There was more, but she didn't want to tell him. Scully had experienced what a  
lot of people might call a vision. She preferred to believe exhaustion and  
anxiety contributed to activating her imagination. Whatever it was, she saw her  
darkest fear: She was lying in a coffin, in complete blackness, alive,  
screaming until her throat was raw, scratching at the lid until her fingers  
bled. And then the air began running out.  
Scully ran a hand through her auburn hair. No, she would not tell Mulder this.  
"We were both exhausted," she continued. "Neither one of us were thinking  
straight."  
"She did something to us, Scully. Don't you want to find her? We need to go  
back and --"  
"There's nothing there, Mulder. Nothing."  
"That's what she said."  
"Then let's go back to that school house. We'll go right now."  
"No!" Why did he say that? Hadn't he wanted to, truly wanted to just seconds  
ago? That odd sense of dread -- just like Scully described -- came thundering  
back. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising and a rush of  
adrenaline that made him want to run. Fire. In the back of his mind, all he  
could think of was fire.  
"You win. I'll get some rest. We'll go later."  
Both agents climbed into the car. Mulder winced when Scully slammed her door.  
She gave him an apologetic look, then silently helped Mulder into his seat belt.  
She couldn't help but notice that he had suddenly grown pale and broken out in a  
sweat.  
* * *  
Stafford Motor Inn  
3:02 p.m.  
Mulder sat on the bed, back against the headboard, fiddling with the remote  
control to the rented VCR. Scully paced the floor, on the phone.  
"Thank you. Please tell him I'll be there in about forty minutes."  
She hung up the phone and began rubbing knots out of her neck, then sat down  
next to Mulder.  
"Peyton Grey is in meetings the rest of the day. His assistant said she'll try  
and call him out."  
Mulder reached over and placed a big warm palm on Scully's neck. She jumped at  
first, caught off guard, but settled down and allowed her partner this  
un-partnerlike moment.  
"The man won't make time for the FBI?" he asked as he attempted to gently  
massage away Scully neck tension. "That's downright un-American. Scully,  
you've got a knot the size of Cleveland back here."  
The impropriety of the situation made Scully feel all the more tense. She  
pulled away and forced a smile.  
Mulder understood. He resumed his fiddling with the remote control, finally  
pressing the 'play' button.  
"Here we go."  
Both agents stared at the television screen as the black and white leader began  
its countdown from ten to one. Ancient, grainy gray images bounced on the  
screen, shaky hand-held camera images of a few dozen boys and girls from the  
sixties running and playing, swinging on old truck tire swings, waving and  
cutting up before the camera. All outside the Stafford Hill Grade School.  
The image would quickly jump from one series of activities to another. More  
random shots of kids playing, then an interior shot. There was not enough  
light, and the film had certainly lost some of its clarity through the years,  
but both agents could tell they were inside the infamous schoolhouse. Well over  
thirty kids sat at desks vigorously raising their hands. At the head of the  
room, a fourty-year-old Doris Rainey presided over her class.  
The image changed to outside again to a random shot of the woods surrounding the  
school. An unstable pan to the left revealed two Twinkie-shaped metallic vans  
parked near the school. There were none of the fun, playful images one would  
associate with pediatric medicine-- no clowns, no balloons, no lollipops. There  
was a long line of kids, all going one by one inside one van or the other. Men  
and women in lab coats seemed to be dividing the children into two separate  
groups. One little girl -- a little black girl -- was pulled out of line by  
stern faced, balding man.  
"He's no Doctor Spock," Mulder said, sitting up, despite the pain. "I recognize  
him, Scully. He's in the photograph."  
"What photograph?"  
"The one with my father."  
Scully barely heard her partner. She's was riveted to the screen.  
The balding man pulled the little girl harshly by the arm, leading her to the  
other van. She tried to pull away, but the man simply picked her up and carried  
her kicking and screaming to the van. She had the oddest little shock of white  
hair mixed in with her little plaits.  
"Oh my god, Mulder, you were right. It's her." Scully whispered. "That was  
Lacy Jordan we saw."  
Mulder hit the pause button, catching a disturbing image of little Lacy frozen  
in mid-scream in the arms of Dr. Emil Vorcek.  
* * *  
Giant Supermarket  
3:15 p.m.  
Debralee Jenkins' favorite place in all of Stafford Hills was the new Giant. It  
was as big as a high school football field and fill with the best produce and  
the finest cuts of meats you could find in all of Virginia. Some of the fruits  
and vegetables came from the farmlands of old family friends.  
Her favorite section was the international aisle. Debralee loved the fact that  
people from other countries ate such exotic fare. She stopped to read the back  
of a box of falafel mix. Very soon, Debralee would be living for good in some  
exotic place, eating exotic foods, though she had yet to make up her mind which  
country it would be. There were so many choices, and Peyton had promised to  
fulfill her heart's desire.  
Debralee heard footsteps coming her way. She suddenly felt very cold. She  
turned. No one was there. She reached to return the falafel box to the shelf  
and felt a thin stream of warm air on her neck. She spun around with a gasp.  
She almost didn't recognize the woman standing so close to her, practically  
towering over her. Then, she noticed the shock of white hair. Debralee almost  
spoke, almost screamed, but the woman put a finger to Debralee's lips.  
"Ssshhh."  
Debralee nodded.  
"You know who I am?"  
Debralee nodded again.  
"Then you know why I'm here. I can help you. But first, I need you to help me.  
I want Peyton."  
"Don't...."  
"Ssshhh. If you don't, you'll end up like Clarence and the rest, I guarantee."  
Debralee nodded, and allowed Lacy to take her by the elbow and escort her out of  
her favorite Giant.  
Stafford Hills County Home for the Aged  
4:25 pm  
Fox Mulder could barely climb the stairs to the verandah. The elderly men  
watched the younger man struggle, an arm clenched around his sides, his face  
twisted in discomfort. Mulder hit the last step and let out a sigh.  
He rang the door bell. The head nurse he and Scully had met the day before came  
to greet him. She did not look very cheerful. "Agent Mulder, right?"  
"Yes. Sorry to bother you, but yesterday, when my partner and I came by to  
interview Mrs. Rainey, there was a man yelling. You referred to him as Mr.  
Emil. I need to know if that man's name is Emil Vorcek."  
"Yes. Why?"  
"May I see him?"  
"I'm afraid you can't."  
"It's important."  
"Mr. Emil passed on during the night."  
Mulder stopped, closed his eyes for a moment. Somehow, that was exactly what he  
had expected to hear but hoped he wouldn't. One step forward, two steps back.  
"Has anyone come to claim the body?"  
"Some men were here earlier."  
"Family?"  
"I guess. Is he in some kind of trouble?"  
"Not any more," Mulder said dejectedly. "I need to get a cab back to my motel.  
May I call one?"  
"You know, I think it's Reggie's day off."  
One cab in all of Stafford Hills. Mulder cursed under his breath.  
The nurse stepped back inside. Mulder turned, staring at the stairs he'd have  
to negotiate his way down. After much protest, Scully had reluctantly dropped  
him off on her way to see Peyton Grey, making him promise to call a taxi or wait  
for her. A cab - the only cab in all of Stafford Hills, was apparently out of  
the questions. He could wait for her or hoof it back to the motel. He decided  
to walk.  
* * *  
Investors Bank  
4:30 pm  
Scully paced the shiny black floor in the waiting area. The room was much  
cooler than it was outside, and Scully could feel herself begin to shiver.  
There was a strange, muffled trilling, and Scully realized it was the high tech  
phone at the reception desk. The woman who filled that position answered it  
quietly.  
"Mr. Grey will see you now," she announced to Scully. Scully gave the re  
ceptionist a quick nod and headed directly to the double doors. She was taken  
aback when the left door opened just as she reached for the knob.  
Ginny Scurlock stood there, a hand extended. Scully thought the woman held her  
hand a little longer than she should have.  
"I'm pleased to meet you, Agent Scully. Come on in."  
Ginny escorted Scully to a medium size office with a window overlooking the  
parking lot. A handsome man in his mid-thirties stood up and offered his pale  
hand to Scully.  
"Mr. Grey, I presume?"  
"Agent Scully. So sorry to give the FBI such a run-around, but my schedule has  
been a might busy. Investor's is close to being bought out by another financial  
institution and everybody here is about as nervous as a cat in a roomful of  
rocking chairs, 'fraid they're gonna lose their jobs."  
"I understand, sir. I promise not to take up too much of your time."  
"Won't you have a seat?"  
Scully settled into a black leather chair that looked more comfortable than it  
felt. "Sir, my partner and I are investigating --"  
"I know what you're investigating. I heard about Clarence Harvey, and I assume  
you also heard about Robert Earl Stiegers."  
Scully quickly pulled out her notes and found Stieger's name on the list of  
former students, but not among the dead.  
"Perhaps you could fill me in on Mr. Stiegers."  
"You're the FBI, shouldn't you know?"  
"My partner and I had a rather energetic night."  
"Really?"  
"He was injured in the line of duty. If you would be so kind..."  
"Robert Earl ran a little second hand bookstore up in Herndon. He shot himself  
in the face in front of a store full of customers."  
"Doesn't it bother you that another former classmates from Stafford Hills Grade  
School is dead?"  
"It deeply disturbs me. But I can't say that I have kept track with all these  
individuals, or maintained a friendship with them. Don't you worry, though. I  
have no intention of committing suicide. How 'bout you, Ginny?"  
Ginny shook her head.  
"That's just it, Mr. Grey. My partner, and to a small degree, even I suspect  
that these are not suicides anymore."  
"You mean you think they were murdered?"  
"Mr. Grey, have you received any threatening phone calls, letters, or com  
munications with anyone that may have given you cause for alarm?"  
"I have to say no."  
Scully looked up at the mousy woman in pink polyester standing near Peyton  
Grey's desk like a nervous little sentry.  
"What about you, Miss Scurlock?"  
"I have to say no, too."  
Scully studied the woman's expression. She knew something. There was no doubt  
about it. But she was taking all of her cues from Grey.  
"Sir, do you know Lacy Jordan?"  
"Lacy Jordan? Lacy Jordan. Oh, Lacy Jordan! I remember her. She was that  
weird little girl with the white hair, back in something like third or fourth  
grade. You remember her, Ginny?"  
Ginny nodded nervously, then turned to look out the window. Scully noted the  
reaction.  
"Poor little thing got kidnapped by crazy old Miss Rainey, woo, back in sixty  
six. They never did find her body."  
"That's probably because she was never a corpse. I have reason to believe that  
Lacy Jordan is alive, and may be responsible for the deaths of your former  
classmates."  
"Go 'way from here."  
"And it is also possible that you and Miss Scurlock, could be next on her list."  
Scully noticed the woman shudder. Peyton Grey, however, was as cool as a  
cucumber.  
"Alive! Why, that's great. But why would she wanna hurt me or Ginny, or any of  
us?"  
"We believe it has something to do with the night you and your classmates  
disappeared. I wonder if you remember anything of that night."  
Peyton sat back, relaying his grief with all the emotional depth and realness of  
a b-movie actor. "I'm afraid, Agent Scully, that after years of therapy and  
sheer frustration, I have yet to uncover from my psyche the events that unfolded  
that night. I am at a loss, as is my assistant Ginny, for anything that  
happened that night. All I remember is knocking on my parents' door at dawn,  
cold and hungry and confused.  
"You share the same memory loss, Miss Scurlock?"  
"I don't recollect nothing. I'm sorry."  
"Do either of you remember the health mobiles that visited your school?"  
"Come to think of it, I do," said, Peyton. "Big old shiny things. They check  
all of us for childhood diseases, malnutrition, ringworms, eyesight. They gave  
us candy after each check up. I was partial to Squirrel Nut Zippers and Now and  
Laters."  
"Ever receive any medication on sugar cubes?"  
"Sometimes. Used to use an eye dropper to drop liquid vitamins on the cubes.  
The sweetness took away the bitter taste of the vitamins."  
"Do you recall the names of the doctors who administered these vitamins to you?"  
"Don't recall if they ever even told me."  
"Does the name Emil Vorcek mean anything to you?"  
"Can't say it does."  
"Ever suspect that you were getting something other than what they were telling  
you?"  
"Agent Scully, we were just kids, simple farm kids. We had no reason to suspect  
anything. Are you saying we shoulda?"  
"I'm saying it's possible things were not as innocent as they were presented.  
Have you or Ms. Scurlock suffered any odd or recurring symptoms?"  
"If you count bursitis as odd. It does have a tendency to recur."  
"No," said Scully. "I imagine it would be something a little more serious."  
Peyton stood up, as if ready to call the meeting adjourned. "Well, if something  
comes up, I'll let you know. Wouldn't mind suing and getting back all them  
taxes I've been paying."  
Scully stood, and felt the room tilt just enough to make her stagger. Peyton  
Grey reached out with those big pale hands and steadied her. Like his mousy  
counterpart, his touch lasted a little longer than it should have, just past the  
point of being polite. Scully pulled away and straightened her trench coat.  
"I think it would be wise if you both considered being placed under protective  
custody."  
"You mean arrest us?"  
"No, sir, I mean, I can arrange to have the local sheriff keep watch around the  
clock, in case Lacy decides to pay you a visit."  
"You can't be serious."  
"Several people are dead. I'm very serious."  
"Agent Scully, I see no reason for Lacy to even come round here. We never did  
nothing to her."  
"I'm sure Mr. Harvey, Mr. Stiegers and the others could say the same thing. We  
may not be dealing with a sane individual, therefore her motives may not be  
clear. We are also trying to get in touch with Franklin Pickett, and Debralee  
Jenkins."  
"Frank's a State Trooper. Last I heard Debralee works for the fabric store at  
the strip mall."  
Scully pulled FBI business cards from her pocket, along with a pen, and quickly  
jotted information on the backs of both cards. "This is the motel where I'm  
staying. If you should hear from Lacy, or if perhaps you remember something,  
please don't hesitate to call."  
She handed a card first to Peyton, then to Ginny, then headed for the door.  
"I will call you and Mr. Mulder post haste," Peyton promised.  
"Excuse me?" Scully said, her hair whipping back as she turned back to face  
Peyton Grey.  
"I said I'll call you."  
"I don't remember giving you my partner's name."  
"What?"  
"I never told you my partner's name was Mulder."  
"No, you didn't." Peyton held Scully's card up. "You gave me his card."  
"No I didn't." Scully was positive. She saw the card as she pulled it from her  
pocket. She remembered. She looked at the card now in Peyton's hand. Sure  
enough, it said Fox Mulder. How did that happen? She could have sworn....  
"Sorry," Scully muttered. Something wasn't right. She needed to get outside,  
to get some air. She felt nauseated, closed in. She needed to go. She quickly  
left the office and headed down the cold hall for the door.  
Peyton and Ginny watched the agent leave. They waited until she was out of  
earshot, then:  
"She's trouble." Peyton looked at the business card in his hand. Dana K.  
Scully, it read. "But she can be manipulated. Call Frank, tell him to empty  
out the drunk tank tonight. We may wanna put that little redhead under  
protective custody ourselves."  
* * *  
Dana Scully took a deep breath once she cleared the door and entered the parking  
lot. That was weird, she thought. Peyton with his down home charm and Ginny  
practically shaking in her shoes. As she headed back to the Taurus, she was  
struck by a thought. Scully removed the handful of business cards in her  
pocket. She shuffled through each card, twice, and not a single one belonged to  
her partner.  
* * *  
Interstate 29  
5:20 p.m.  
Scully could not get the meeting with Peyton Grey off her mind. Something about  
him had affected her the same way her impromptu meeting with Lacy Jordan had  
left her feeling uneasy. It was as if the two of them were wearing those old  
fifty's x-ray specs, and could really see inside her clothes. Or worse, inside  
her head. So many thoughts were plaguing Dana Scully's mind that she barely saw  
the woman who stepped out into the middle of the road, right in front of her  
car.  
Scully shouted as she twisted the wheel hard to the left to avoid her, and  
missed smashing into a huge oak tree by a breath. Scully was thrust forward as  
she slammed on her brakes, the seatbelt the only thing saving her from flying  
through the windshield.  
Scully shook her head clear then climbed out of the car. The woman was lying in  
the road unconscious. Scully checked her vitals, then pulled out her cell phone  
and called for help.  
Thirty minutes later, the woman, who was identified as Debralee Jenkins, was  
being loaded onto the back of a coroner's wagon. Cause of death would be  
determined by an autopsy, but for now, the Stafford Hills County Medical  
examiner on duty was considering the cause of death a massive heart attack  
brought on by fright.  
Scully tried to reach Mulder, but he was not answering at the motel. Must've  
taken a few Tylenol 3's, she thought, and was dead to the world.  
A broad-bodied, bald State Trooper gestured Scully to join him by her car.  
"Yes?"  
"This your car?"  
"Yes, it is."  
"Ma'am, I'm gonna have to ask you to submit to a breathalizer."  
"Breathalizer? I haven't been drinking. Listen, I'm Special Agent Dana Scully,  
FBI, I'm investigating --"  
The State Trooper reached under the driver's seat and pulled out a small silver  
flask. He opened it and took a sniff.  
"That's not mine."  
"Of course it isn't," the Trooper said nastily.  
"This vehicle was rented. It must've belonged to the previous renter."  
"Of course. Step over hear, please, ma'am."  
Dana reached into her pocket for her ID. "There's been a grave mistake. If  
you'll just call my partner --"  
Instantly the State Trooper pulled his service weapon and aimed it at Scully."  
"Don't move!"  
"Easy!"  
"Up against the car."  
"Are you arresting me?" I haven't...!"  
"Hands in the air!"  
Scully raised her hands quickly.  
The State Trooper grabbed her by the wrist and pushed her against the car. He  
slapped on handcuffs so quickly that Scully had no time to react.  
"What's the charge?" she asked.  
"Driving while intoxicated. Resisting arrest."  
"Resisting arrest?"  
"You have the right to remain silent...."  
The State Trooper pulled her from the hood of the car and turned her around.  
She stared at his badge.  
"Franklin Pickett?"  
"...anything you say can be held against you in a court of law..."  
Pickett pushed Scully into his squad car, climbed into the driver seat and took  
off before anyone had time to see or ask questions.  
* * *  
Stafford Inn  
9:47 p.m.  
The blue light of the television barely illuminated the room. Mulder woke  
feeling groggy, not sure of where he was at the moment. He moved and pain shot  
through his ribs. Now he remembered.  
He'd walked the few miles from the Home to the motel, and by the time he got  
there, he thought his ribs would explode. He took two Tylenol 3's and eased  
onto the bed, waiting for the pain to ease up. He was asleep in a matter of  
minutes.  
Mulder carefully turned over and noticed the lateness of the hour. Where was  
Scully? Was she back in her room? Perhaps she had noticed he was asleep, and  
knowing how exhausted he was, elected not to bother him, to allow him this rare  
opportunity to rest. He began to yawn but it hurt too much. He stifled it as  
much as he could.  
Mulder sat on the edge of the bed carefully and looked at the television. On  
the screen, an old William Castle movie was playing -- "Invaders From Mars."  
Cheesy special effects, but some good acting here and there. This movie was a  
favorite of Mulder's because it was about one little boy who knew the Martian's  
had come, and all the grownups who refused to believe him, and how they fell  
victim to their inability to believe. The scene that was on used to be his  
favorite scene, at least until his partner was abducted. It was the scene were  
the boy's mother lay face down on a glass table as Martian machinery is drilling  
an implant in the base of her neck. He quickly found the remote and turned the  
television off, plunging the room in darkness.  
There was a vague flash of red. Then a flash of white, followed by a low and  
distant rumble of thunder. He moved to the window and saw that it was raining.  
The red neon sign hissed whenever water hit it. He also noticed the  
bureau-registered Taurus was not in its parking space.  
Mulder forgot all about his aching ribs. He quickly turned on the lights and  
grabbed the phone. He dialed Dana's room. No answer. He grabbed his pants and  
a shirt, throwing them on haphazardly and stepping into his shoes without  
bothering with socks. As he was reaching for the door, the phone rang.  
"Scully?"  
"Mulder, thank God. I tried you twice. Didn't you hear the phone ring?"  
"I was sleeping, Scully, I'm sorry. What's up? Where are you? Are you okay?"  
"Not really. I'm in jail."  
"What?"  
"I've been arrested for drunk driving and resisting arrest."  
"Scully, you party animal."  
"This isn't funny, Mulder. The charges are fake, trumped up. I don't know  
what's going on around here, but no one's listening to me. And guess who had  
the duty of slapping on the cuffs? Franklin Pickett."  
"Our Franklin Pickett?"  
"The one and only. He knows what's going on, and he's trying to stop us.  
They're holding me on some weird technicality and I know it's bull. Mulder, you  
have to come down here and talk to them. This is the only phone call they're  
going to let me make. They said there's no bail."  
"No bail? It's not like you killed somebody."  
"Well, Mulder, that's not exactly true. Debralee Jenkins ran out in front of my  
car. I didn't hit her, I know I didn't, but they're trying to railroad me with  
it, Mulder. Get down here and talk some sense into them, please?"  
"I am on my way."  
"Be careful. They could be after you next."  
Mulder hung up, feeling motivated by righteous indignation. He was going to  
find Franklin Pickett and tear him a new one. He opened the door just as  
thunder rumbled. There was someone standing in the doorway. A small, mousy  
woman, drenched from head to toe. She shivered. Mulder couldn't tell if it was  
from the cold, or from fear.  
"Agent Mulder?"  
"Yes?"  
"My name is Virginia Scurlock. Please, help me."  
* * *  
Five minutes, Mulder thought. He'd give her five minutes to explain herself,  
then he had to get down to the station to save Scully. He let the woman in and  
gave her a towel. She sat in one of the hard chairs near the window and blotted  
her hair dry, crying the whole time.  
"I don't know where to begin," she said. "I'm so afraid."  
"Of what?"  
"I never meant to do any of those things."  
"What things?"  
"Can you protect me? He doesn't know I'm here yet, but he will. We have to  
leave now."  
"And go where?"  
"Anywhere!"  
"Look, Ms. Scurlock. I want to help you. I do. But you're not telling me  
anything. My partner is in trouble, and I have to go to her. If you want my  
protection..."  
The woman reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a gun. It was Scully's  
service weapon. She sat in on the table in front of her and went back to drying  
her hair. Mulder surreptitiously reached out and took it.  
"I'm supposed to kill you. He wants to pin it on your partner."  
"Who wanted you to kill me? Was it Vorcek?"  
"Vorcek's dead, finally. He doesn't want anyone to know what we've done. He  
doesn't want anyone to know what we are."  
"Who? You're not telling me anything. Who are we talking about here?"  
Ginny put the towel down and locked eyes with Mulder. Her skin was chalky  
white, her lips near blue, her eyes red and nearly bulging from their sockets.  
"He can read thoughts," she said in a harsh whisper. "He can crawl inside your  
head like a bug and see everything. He's inside mine right now, but I got up a  
wall. It's like this thing you say over and over again in your mind, and it  
keeps bad feelers out, but only as long as you can keep saying it. Right now,  
I'm so tired."  
"What they did to you, what they gave you when you were kids, gave you the  
ability to read minds?"  
"It's more than that. We ain't human no more. They told us we were better than  
people like you, you know, normal people. I just thought we were freaks.  
Please, Mr. Mulder, I don't want to die."  
Ginny began to cry again. "Don't let her find me either."  
"Who?"  
"Lacy. You've seen her. She's been inside your head. She wants you."  
"For what?"  
"I don't know!"  
She dropped her head and covered her face with the wet towel.  
"I'll protect you. But you have to tell me everything."  
She looked up at Mulder. Deeper circles showed under her eyes. "I've done so  
many terrible things. If we didn't they would hurt us."  
Ginny suddenly sat up straight in her chair as if struck by an electrical  
current. She stood, listening to the stillness in the room.  
"She's out there. God help me, she's out there!" She reached out and grabbed  
Mulder by the front of his shirt, pleading. "Help me!"  
Glass exploded across the room as the windows were blown in. Mulder wrapped his  
arms around her and turned her away from the flying glass. He felt the impact  
of several pieces against his back, but was not sure if he were cut. The  
television tube exploded. Wind from outside whipped through the room. Light  
bulbs exploded. Even the red neon sigh outside exploded, leaving the room cast  
in utter darkness as cold rain pushed by the wind pounded like needles against  
them.  
Lighting flashed as Ginny's head flew back and strange, strangling noises issues  
from her throat. She began to convulse. Blood shot up from her mouth like  
steam from a geiser. Mulder ducked in time to miss the spray.  
He guided her violently jerking body down to the floor. As suddenly as it  
began, the woman's seizure stopped. She lay dead in Mulder's arms. Her bloody  
mouth was wide open. He turned away when he saw that she had swallowed her  
tongue.  
Instantly the wind whipping through the room calmed and silence but for the  
sound of rain upon the roof was restored.  
Mulder lay Ginny's body softly on the floor, then grabbed his service weapon.  
He ran outside, standing in the pouring rain, becoming drenched in the downpour,  
looking about feverishly.  
"I know you're out here!" Mulder shouted over the rain, gun up and ready to  
fire.  
Thunder rumbled.  
"Show yourself!"  
Lacy stepped out of the shadows, as if she were part of the night.  
"You killed her! You killed Clarence Harvey! Why are you killing them?"  
Lacy said nothing. She stepped back into the shadows, into the dark seeming to  
disappear. She was teasing him.  
Mulder raced to where she had stood. No sign of her. He quickly spun around.  
He could feel her. She was here.  
Out of nowhere she appeared again and kicked the gun from Mulder's hand. Mulder  
swung out in retaliation, but she delivered another heavy-booted kick to  
Mulder's already suffering rubs that sent him crashing into the mud with an  
anguished cry.  
Mulder tried to get up, but a big old Doc Marten came slamming down on his  
chest, pinning him down in the mud, the rain filling his mouth. Lacy leaned  
down just as lightening flashed.  
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a little white vial with a spray cap.  
Was it mace? She gave it a little shake, then sprayed it in Mulder's face.  
Mulder recoiled and covered his face. He felt her boot lift off his chest and  
he rolled over trying to wash the spray out with mud and rainwater. His face  
burned like fire, like a million tiny ants racing into his eyes, his ears, his  
mouth. He began to wretch and cough, but nothing could relieve the burning. He  
could barely breath.  
Lacy squatted down next to him and turned Mulder's face around to look him in  
the eye, holding him by the chin.  
"Welcome to the club," she said and laughed.  
She let go of his chin and remained in her crouched position, and for several  
minutes, watched Mulder helplessly writhe.  
End Part 3  
Send comments to   
Promise?   
  
LITTLE MONSTERS (4/6)  
  
December 1, 1997  
Disclaimer in Part 1.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Stafford Hills Grade School  
12:04 am  
Fox Mulder awoke to the worse pain he could recall in a very long time. His  
entire body ached as if he'd been run over several times by a Mack truck. His  
vision was blurry, his mouth completely dry, he was sweating profusely and he  
was freezing. He moved to rub his face, but something stopped his left hand.  
The fuzziness in his mind began to clear up when he realized his left wrist was  
handcuffed.  
Mulder sat up. More information began filtering in. He was undressed to his  
skivvies. His shirt, pants, and undershirt were folded neatly and sitting at  
the foot of the smelly old metal cot where he lay. A thin, lumpy mattress was  
under his back, and a scratchy old blanket that quite probably had fleas covered  
him. There was the constant sound of water dripping. He blinked several times  
before he could make out the filled and overflowing plastic buckets and  
containers around the room catching rainwater. An old generator hummed and  
vibrated on the other side of the room, and a dull yellowish light illuminated  
only a portion of the area.  
Sitting up made Mulder's head pound. He let himself fall back down upon the  
flat pillow. His joints were aching and he wanted to vomit. He rolled over  
onto his side and let out a yell when his bruised ribs protested.  
Lightning flashed and he could see her sitting across the room, perched atop an  
old wooden desk standing on it side. She sat leaning slightly forward, as if  
she were some wingless gargoyle on the roof of an Old World cathedral, as if  
gravity were not a concern. She had a huge black book in her hands. She began  
to read out loud.  
"'Hear me, O God, as I voice my complaint; protect my life from the threat of  
the enemy. Hide me from the conspiracy of the wicked, from that noisy crowd of  
evildoers. They sharpen their tongues like swords and aim their words like  
deadly arrows. They shoot from ambush at the innocent man; they shoot at him  
suddenly, without fear....' That's pretty good, huh? Psalms. It's the Old  
Testament, just in case you didn't know. Not that I know much about it myself."  
Mulder jangled the cuffs around his wrist. His throat was so raw and inflamed he  
could not speak.  
Lacy shook her head and continued to watch him.  
Mulder tried to sit up again. Lacy stood and leaped down, hitting the floor a  
lot more gracefully than Mulder thought should have been possible.  
She came to his bedside and reached for him. Mulder recoiled.  
"Ssshhh."  
She reached out again, this time merely placing a cool dark hand on Mulder's  
forehead. "You're burning up."  
'No kidding,' Mulder wanted to say, but still couldn't find his voice. He tried  
to swallow but the pain was intense, like swallowing an acid-coated golf ball.  
"You just hang on, G-Man," she said, and wandered back across the room, into the  
shadows. "This isn't the worst of it. But when it's all over, you'll thank me.  
Why don't you try to sleep."  
This was more than an idle suggestion. Mulder's eyes practically closed on her  
command and sleep overcame him in an instant.  
* * *  
Stafford Hill Lock-Up  
12:10 am  
Dana Scully knew she needed sleep, but she could not. She paced the small cell  
with her arms crossed to ward off the damp chill. They hadn't let her keep her  
trench coat, and the blanket on the cot smelled of urine and sweat and cheap  
scotch.  
From what she could tell, she was the only person imprisoned on this lower level  
of the lock up unit. She'd called out a few times but no one had answered her.  
'Where are you Mulder!' She paced faster at the thought of him. She didn't  
know if she should be angry or frightened. Mulder would never forget about her,  
leave her to rot in this cell. He would be there, unless something or someone  
had stopped him. Was he dead? Was his injury more severe the either of them,  
or the ER doctor had thought? Was he still in the motel room and suffering,  
unable to come to her rescue? He sounded fine on the phone. Perhaps Franklin  
Pickett had gotten to him already. Or worse, Lacy Jordan.  
She felt that somehow Peyton Grey was involved with her imprisonment. He was  
not the country bumpkin he pretended to be. There was something in the way he  
looked at her, as if he were looking into her. There was something about his  
touch, when she stumbled, as if he wanted something from her. The thought of  
him and that mousy Ms. Scurlock made her shudder.  
She heard keys jangling, the moaning of old metal, and then footsteps heading  
her way. It was a bout time! Scully ran to the bars and held on, trying to see  
who was coming her way. She saw a tall hairless man in a uniform. Franklin  
Pickett. Mulder was not with him.  
Scully backed away from the bars as he approached with a lascivious smile. "I  
hope you find our accommodations to your liking, little miss. If there's  
anything I can do..."  
"You have no right to keep me here. What you're doing is illegal."  
"What're you talking about? You hit and killed Debralee Jenkins. You're gonna  
be in jail for a long, long time."  
"I never touched her. She ran out into the middle of the road. I swerved and I  
missed her. If I had hit her, there would have been physical trauma --"  
"She's dead. How do you explain that?"  
"I can't. Not without an autopsy."  
"Why don't you just relax and think of this as a little vacation from the FBI."  
"Has my partner been here for me?"  
"Tall, lanky guy? Dark hair? Kinda looks real depressed?"  
Scully nodded, just to move things along.  
"I seen him. On a slab."  
"What do you mean? He's dead? How? When?"  
Pickett looked at his watch.  
"Right about now."  
She didn't know whether to take him seriously or not. "I demand you release  
me," Scully said flatly.  
A look came over Franklin that made her wish she could run.  
"Don't you talk to me like that. You don't demand NOTHING. YOU DO AS I SAY!"  
Scully was slammed back against the wall and held there by unseen hands. She  
tried to move and felt her throat constrict as if someone were choking her.  
Franklin Pickett smiled. "You gonna do as I say?"  
"Yes," Scully barely managed to say in a raspy voice.  
"Course you are." Franklin let his eyes roam all over Scully. She felt his  
eyes like hands. She tried not to look him in the eyes, but his own eyes were  
locked into her like hooks.  
"Ooh, wee. You just a little biddy thing to be a FBI agent. Look at you. I  
got hands bigger than your feet."  
"Please, let me go."  
"I ain't through with you. You shut up when I'm talking, you understand? You  
don't give the orders around here. I give the orders. I can do anything I want  
to you. You can scream all you like. This here is the drunk tank and can't  
nobody hear what's going on down here. We got the place all to ourselves. You  
be nice to me, and maybe the time will go a little easier."  
Something like hands was rubbing up Scully's thighs. She did all she could to  
resist it, but she was helpless to stop him. How can you stop what you can't  
see?  
"Hey Frank!" A voice from above called out.  
Instantly the hands that held Scully released her and she fell hard to the  
floor.  
"What you want?"  
"Sheriff's looking for you."  
Pickett turned back to Scully and grinned. "I'll be back later." He turned and  
headed back up stairs.  
Scully's stomach turned as she heard the metal doors above being closed and  
locked back.  
Stafford Hills Grade School  
4:17 a.m.  
There was an odd smell, strong and irritating, and suddenly he drifted from his  
nightmares of Samantha and shadowy men in black into a huge white room with a  
round light in the ceiling. Suddenly men and women in lab coats were staring  
down at him. Doctors and nurses. Was he in a hospital? The smell became  
stronger, closer to him.  
All the doctors and nurses disappeared, and suddenly. Lacy appeared over him,  
reaching toward this throat. Something cold was on his chest. Was he dying?  
Mulder woke with a gasp to find Lacy sitting next to him, her hands on his naked  
chest.  
"Ssshhh," she said. "It's just rubbing alcohol, to bring your fever down."  
Against his better judgment, Mulder abandoned his protest and lay back into the  
pillow.  
She poured more alcohol into her hand and gently rubbed over his chest, his  
sides, his stomach, and his neck, behind his ears, across his shoulders and down  
his arms. The alcohol felt jarring like ice water at first, but it soon became  
soothing. And her hands were gentle, something he had not expected. Mulder  
inadvertently moaned, and was embarrassed.  
Lacy smiled. "It's okay to enjoy it. Turn over, let me get your back."  
Mulder didn't move. No way would he turn his back on her. He opened his eyes  
and stared at Lacy. His throat wasn't as sore as earlier, so he tried to speak.  
It came out in a harsh whisper.  
"What did you do to me?"  
"I gave you what you always wanted."  
"You poisoned me. What was in that spray?"  
"A virus."  
"What kind of virus?"  
"A smart virus. You're sick now, because you're body is rejecting it, fighting  
it off. It will win eventually. Or you'll die. Don't worry, you're strong.  
What you're feeling will pass in a few more hours, and then you'll be thanking  
me."  
"You said that once before. Why would I thank you for exposing me to a virus?"  
"Because I've given you your dream. I've made you invincible."  
Mulder stared into her eyes, looking to find the lie. He couldn't find it.  
"Let me get your back, now."  
"Take off the cuffs."  
She didn't move, but the cuffs fell open and dropped on the floor behind the  
bed. How did that happen?  
Mulder still didn't want to turn his back on the woman, but he did. Holding  
onto his ribs he turned his body away from Lacy, facing the wall. He noticed  
his ribs were not as sore as before.  
Cool alcohol made him tremble under her touch. Finally the coolness won him  
over again and he began to relax. Something told him this woman had no  
intention of killing him. But if that were true, what did she want?  
She tapped him on the shoulder. Mulder, who was beginning to drift back into  
sleep, turned over with a start.  
Lacy handed him the half-empty bottle of alcohol and smiled. "You do your own  
legs."  
Mulder slowly sat up, a little sore and a little achy and just plain sick. He  
threw back the old blanket and poured alcohol onto his legs. The muscled limbs,  
once burning like fire, instantly began to cool down.  
"Why did you kill Virginia Scurlock?"  
"I didn't."  
"Who did?"  
"Peyton Grey."  
"I don't believe you."  
"I didn't expect you would. But I have proof."  
"Show me."  
"Eventually. Don't you want to know about the virus?"  
"Can I leap tall buildings in a single bound?"  
Lacy wandered over to the old upright piano and hit a few keys. It was grossly  
flat and sounded awful.  
"What I gave you is the culmination of 30 years of research, all in an aerosol  
vial. Ozone friendly, of course. The virus carries chemical signals, a lot  
like neurotransmitters, than stimulate and enhance unused portions of the brain,  
unleashing a variety of talents."  
She began playing Moonlight Sonata, despite the sour notes and missing keys.  
The sound of that old piano irritated him. "Knock it off," Mulder said harshly.  
Lacy stopped abruptly. "Kill joy. In the spring of 1965, our government  
contracted an independent drug company to work with the military to develop and  
test a series of designer viruses. The idea was to introduce them into a small,  
controlled population and monitor it over the course of several years. Stafford  
Hills was chosen because of its mostly poor, working class denizens and because  
of its remote location. There were several failed attempts. They tried putting  
it in the water supply, injecting it into dairy cows and mixing it into the  
manure used to fertilize crops for local distribution. Didn't work. And then,  
in the fall of 1966, they decided to introduce it in its purest form to the  
thirty-nine students enrolled at Stafford Hills Grade School. Twelve out of the  
thirty-nine showed promise. Only one out of the twelve, actually knocked their  
socks off. You can imagine their... disappointment."  
"Why was that?"  
"We're talking the sixties, Mulder. We had yet to overcome, as it were."  
"So you weren't a guy and you weren't white. You were still their golden girl."  
"I was their lab rat. They kept me locked up and sedated because they were  
afraid of me, and studied me, hoping to find a way to pass on what I could do to  
more 'desirable subjects.' Eventually they brought me out of the closet,  
schooled me, trained me, taught me to use it and control it, all the time  
continuing to make the virus stronger and faster acting in its various  
mutations."  
She sat down by her tarp covered control table and took from her pocket a small  
silver metal case. From it she removed a syringe filled with cloudy green  
fluid, and rubber tubing. She shrugged out of her leather coat and tied the  
tubing tightly around her arm.  
"What are you doing?" Mulder asked, his throat dry, already knowing what he was  
about to witness.  
"That little taste I gave you has already accomplished in you what would have  
taken three months of painful injections, three times a day, every day, back in  
the day."  
She located a blood-engorged vein and deftly clicked the cap off of the needle.  
"Personally, I prefer the directness of the needle," she said, as she jabbed it  
into her arm, pushed down the plunger and then quickly removed it. A thin line  
of blood ran down her arm. She licked it off and laughed as Mulder looked  
away.  
Lacy sat in silence for a moment, then removed the tubing.  
"At the tender age of nineteen, I became one of eight specially enhanced service  
providers for the United States Government."  
"You mean assassins?"  
"That was one part of the job, yes. I would not betray my employers by telling  
you whom I have killed. Suffice to say we were very successful, not to mention  
unique. Imagine not having to lift a finger, not to implicate yourself in any  
way. Didn't even need to be in the same room. Simple mind manipulation, and  
the contract could choke on his rice pilaf, or go into cardiac arrest, suffer a  
brain aneurysm, drive a car off a bridge, or publically pat the rump of an  
under-aged page right before the cameras."  
"Our tax dollars at work."  
"Well, I thought I'd skip the boring stuff and stick with the more prurient  
details."  
"What happened to the other seven?"  
Lacy stopped and look down, as if someone had requested a moment of silence out  
of respect for fallen comrades.  
"They each developed a very serious dependency on this stuff, a nasty little  
addiction that made them mentally unstable and unpredictable, hard to control.  
It wasn't so much the drug as it was the power. You can get drunk on this  
stuff. And then, it was discovered that all of the subjects were developing  
some very nasty cancerous tumors. These cancers, it turns out, were not  
accidents. They were designed to be...off-switches. They're all dead."  
"What about you?"  
"I have my share of tumors. It's just matter of time."  
Mulder felt a sorrow for the woman that made him uncomfortable. Was she not the  
enemy?  
"And me? What's my prognosis, now that you've exposed me?"  
"Long term exposure to the green stuff is necessary. You'll be fine."  
"What exactly is the green stuff?"  
"Do you really want to know?"  
"Yes."  
"Find out for yourself."  
Lacy squatted down by the bed. She looked directly into Mulder's eyes. She  
seemed almost giddy, as if about to open a present she's been waiting to get her  
hands on.  
"I've never invited anyone in before. You're the first."  
"The first?" And then he knew. Somehow he knew. The first ever to be invited  
inside her head. He didn't know how. He just took a deep breath and --  
Mulder flinched as if someone had jabbed him in the chest with a sharp object.  
A flood of images assaulted him. In the time it took him to blink, he knew  
everything there was to know about Lacy Jordan. He saw her as a child, her  
family, her friends, her life. He saw her abduction, heard the cries of Doris  
Rainey, saw and felt the tests, her training, her first kill. He saw the  
doctors with their needles and tubes, how mean they were to her, the names they  
called her thinking she was too sedated to hear them, but she heard them! He  
felt her hatred of her captors, the detachedness she was trained to feel for he  
kills, her pain and total aloneness. He saw her locked in what appeared to be a  
bank vault, so afraid of her were her captors. They'd created a monster and  
feared what they had created. How horrible to be a girl of fourteen and realize  
you are a monster! How horrible to live without human contact unless it was to  
be injected or restrained. Living a life of virtually no human contact until th  
ey brought her out to study her or hurt her or show her off to their consortium  
benefactors. He saw her strapped to tables and tested over and over again, he  
saw the hands of the male doctors and military men creeping to places they  
should not have gone while she was strapped down and knocked out. She was fully  
aware of it, but powerless to stop them. He saw the tumors growing inside her  
and knew the agony they were causing. He saw the myriad times she had been  
shot, stabbed, hit and returned to her vault/tomb/home with not a thank you or  
an apology. He saw her terror and outrage the day she found out that some of  
what she was being injected with all her life came from a dead thing kept inside  
a jar that wasn't even from world. He felt the pain and the burning and the  
sickness and saw the hundreds of times she begged them crying, "kill me, kill  
me, please, kill me...."  
"KILL ME!"  
Mulder awoke with a start, fighting to catch his breath. His head was still  
full of images, his own memories competing with those of Lacy's. How had he  
been able to do that? The very idea made him anxious, excited. As frightening  
as it was, he wanted to experience that sensation again.  
There was no sign of Lacy, and he was handcuffed to the bed again. There was a  
one gallon size jug of orange juice beside the bed with a note attached. "Drink  
this, you'll need it." Next to the jug was a huge folder filled with newspaper  
clippings, email hard copy and photo copied articles. Mulder struggled to sit  
up and grabbed the juice first. It was cold and the carton was sweaty. He  
downed about a quart of it non-stop. And then he reached for the file. Several  
pages fell out. He reached down and picked up an article about a Mexican  
airline disaster, pages that looked like laboratory documentation, an article  
about the bombing of a government facility, and an old, yellowed photograph of  
the class of sixty-six. Twelve little heads were circled in red. The child  
that was Lacy was the only one not smiling.  
Mulder sat back and began to read.  
* * *  
Stafford Hill Lock-Up  
7:26 a.m.  
Scully awoke with a start. Someone was there. She practically fell off of the  
cot and spun around, looking for the intruder.  
Another visit from Franklin Pickett was the last thing she needed. Scully had  
just about convinced herself she was safely alone. She turned and found Lacy  
standing outside the cell, smiling.  
"We haven't been properly introduced," Lacy said.  
"I know who you are," Scully said evenly, working hard not to betray her fear.  
"Where's Mulder?" Scully moved dangerously close to the bars. "If you've hurt  
him -- "  
"Mulder's fine."  
"Where is he?"  
"He's at my place, sleeping. You look like you could use a couple more hours  
yourself. Why don't you lie down, relax a bit. You'll see Mulder soon, I  
promise."  
Dana found herself becoming quite sleepy.  
"What are you doing to me?"  
Scully barely made it back to the cot before sleep overtook her.  
Lacy watched the petite redhead sleep, and took a moment to linger inside the  
woman's head. She saw Mulder quite prominently there. Lacy felt a twinge of  
jealously, but quickly dismissed it. As Scully slept, Lacy placed a message in  
her head. She would never know where it came from or why she felt compelled to  
say it. It was something Lacy knew she could never in a million years say  
herself. It wasn't necessary, not even rational, but Lacy wanted someone to  
know.  
She was not a monster.  
* * *  
Stafford Hills Grade School  
8:30 am  
Mulder awoke remembering Scully. He had dozed off while reading the files.  
Lacy's evidence and notes implicated Peyton Grey, but he wasn't ready to accept  
it, not until he talked to Lacy again.  
He found the cuffs had been removed. He even felt better, like the bug had  
passed, but it had left him weak and sore. He rose and found his undershirt,  
shirt and shoes and quickly put them on and headed for the door.  
"Going somewhere?"  
Mulder spun around the find Lacy standing behind him. Where had she come from?  
"I've got to get to Scully."  
"She's okay, for now."  
"How do you know?"  
"I paid her a visit," said Lacy as she came around to block the door. "I  
thought you'd like to know she's okay."  
"Get out of my way."  
"Let her be for now. They're not going to do anything to her until they've got  
you. Leave now and you're both dead."  
Mulder felt dizzy. Lacy reached for him, to help him stay on his feet, but  
Mulder pulled away. He sat down on bed and rubbed his face, feeling hot and  
slightly feverish again.  
"At least let me get back to the motel room. In case you forgot, there's a dead  
body in my room, lying in a pool of blood. Someone may want to talk to me about  
that."  
"Already taken care of. It's in my trunk."  
"Hope it doesn't get too warm today."  
"Did you read the stuff I left you? I thought you'd appreciate my attempt at  
writing a profile on Peyton Grey. I realize it's not as good as your stuff,  
but...."  
"You want me to believe that Peyton Grey is responsible for all of that?"  
"Yes. And the others."  
"Why did they let them go, why did they keep you?"  
"Someone on the inside engineered it."  
"Emil Vorcek?"  
"I knew I liked you for a reason, Mulder. Vorcek had his own agenda. He  
falsified the test results and had the children released. The Governmen  
t-sponsored project continued, with me as the flagship subject, and Vorcek as  
head goon. Meanwhile, Vorcek conducted his own side-project with Peyton, Ginny,  
Clarence and the others. He continued to administer the drug for years to the  
very individuals who are now suddenly turning up dead."  
"And the disasters? You're telling me they are responsible for everything in  
this file? The Aero Mexicali crash of ninety-one? The outbreak of  
cryptospyridium in the drinking water in Washington, D.C.? The Amtrak de  
railment in Boston? Boris Yeltsin's heart trouble? The last six World Series?"  
Lacy nodded. "And more, probably from as far back as nineteen-seventy-two, but,  
this was all I've been able to compile. Eleven individuals working in concert,  
for whatever entity, foreign or domestic would pay their outrageous fee. The  
politics weren't at all important, just the fee. Think of them as high-priced  
prostitutes with Vorcek as their pimp."  
"Why didn't you blow the whistle on them earlier?"  
"I only recently acquired the contract to see to Vorcek's retirement. I  
stumbled upon this information in my 'research'. All of this could have been  
prevented if.... I always knew what Peyton and the others could do. But they  
were my friends. They swore they would come back for me."  
"Did they?"  
Lacy didn't have to answer. Mulder knew her so called friends had abandoned  
her, left her like the biblical scapegoat, to be slaughtered for their sins.  
"I kept their secret, knowing that if it were revealed, they would either be  
destroyed, or worse, have done to them what was done to me. All this," she  
said, pointing to the thick file, "because I believed a lie. I had a choice,  
report them to my superiors, or stop them myself."  
"So you killed them?"  
"No, I didn't kill them."  
Mulder shook his head and smirked in disbelief.  
"I didn't kill them. I went to them, one by one, to give them a chance to  
stop."  
"It's just a coincidence they ended up dead?"  
"Peyton killed them. Together they'd amassed an incredible fortune. Peyton  
never cared much for sharing."  
"I can't believe after all these years, after they deserted you, you'd still try  
and save them."  
"They were my friends."  
Lacy could feel Mulder's deep distrust. "I'm not lying. You can read me if you  
want."  
"How do I know you've been showing me the truth?"  
"You can only hide what you see on the outside. I've read you a dozen times  
over, Fox Mulder. That's why I chose you to help me."  
"What do you mean, 'chose me'?"  
"The day we met, that's when I knew you were the right man. We share the same  
enemies. The men who did this to me, turned me into a walking toxic waste dump,  
they're the same men who are responsible for your sister."  
Mulder froze with anger and indecision. He remembered Doris Rainey's des  
cription of the Smoking Man. The Cancer Man. It could be true. And there was  
something in the back of his mind, a residual from the trip inside Lacy's head  
earlier. Or it could be another manipulation?  
"What do you know about my sister?"  
"Samantha? Only what I've seen in your head. They know her. And they know  
where she is."  
Mulder stood up. "Where is she?"  
"I don't know."  
"Then what good does this do me?"  
"None. I just thought you'd like to know."  
"Can't you 'read' them and find out where she is?"  
"Do it yourself."  
Lacy stood up and walked to her console.  
Mulder sat back down, frustrated. He knocked the files to the floor with an  
angry swipe, then covered his face. Was this another lie just to ensure his  
cooperation? He'd been spoon fed untruths so often that he never knew where the  
truth ended and the lie began. His head ached from information overload, from  
the virus, and from worry about Scully. This was all just too much.  
"Okay," he snapped. His voice was loud and threatening. "Enough dancing around  
the issue. What do you want from me? Why give me this virus? So I can see  
inside people's heads, peep at their dirty little secrets? So what? What does  
this do to make me 'invincible'? How do I save my partner and get the bad  
guys?"  
"I think it's time," she said, keeping her back to Mulder as she spoke, "to show  
you what you can do. Stand up."  
Mulder sat defiantly. He knew if Lacy really wanted him to do anything, she  
could make him. So he sat up, stood up, and adopted a don't-mess-with-me stance  
that was superfluous where Lacy was concerned, but it made him feel at least  
marginally in control.  
"Take off your shirt," she said.  
"Excuse me?"  
"I said --" Lacy turned around, and pointed Mulder's own Sig Sauer at him.  
"-- take off your shirt."  
Mulder felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickling, pins and needles in his  
armpits, and a wave of nausea in his gut. His finger tips were numb as he began  
to unbutton his shirt.  
"Undershirt, too."  
He dropped his shirt on the bed and then pulled his tee shirt over his head,  
dropping it beside the shirt. Damp cold assaulted his bare skin.  
"Anymore'll cost you extra," he said.  
"That'll do, thanks." Lacy pulled the trigger.  
Even as he heard the report, felt the hot slug slam into his abdomen, even as he  
staggered back from impact, he refused to believe he had been shot. But only  
for a second. The pain was overwhelming. The rush of his blood instantly  
warmed his cold hands. Mulder doubled over, his face twisted in agony, his  
knees hitting the floor, and looked at the gaping hole in his gut from his own  
gun.  
'This is it,' he thought. 'This is how it ends.' His body began to tremble  
uncontrollably. He expected weakness to take him all the way down, anticipated  
being taken under the dark, gentle blanket of unconsciousness which would then  
taxi him painlessly to death's door.  
But it didn't happen.  
He heard laughter, and looked up into Lacy's smiling face. God, she was  
beautiful, he found himself thinking, along with a laundry list of expletives to  
describe her treachery. But her laughter was not of the conqueror. She laughed  
as if she knew a secret and was dying to share it with him.  
That was when Mulder felt it. He had no idea what to call it, or how to  
describe it. He spasmed hard -- once, twice.  
"HUH!" escaped from his throat, rushed through his lips as he felt the r  
ejection process begin. His stomach muscles, which should have been torn  
asunder from the slug began to flutter hard.  
"Huh! Uhn! What's happening to me?"  
Lacy put the gun down and sat on the bed, watching, smiling. "Easy, Mulder.  
Just ride it out."  
Mulder lifted his bloody hands from the wound and watched as the slug was  
suddenly expelled from his body, virtually spat out of the hole it had created  
like an indigestible piece of gristle. It hit the floor with a clang.  
"Wha...?"  
He stuck his index and middle finger into the deep bloody wound and felt  
pressure pushing against him. New tissue was regenerating and knitting itself  
into place. Within seconds, the hole in Mulder's abdomen was closed. He wiped  
away the blood that was quickly drying and saw a quarter-size patch of new,  
pinkish skin. He could not still the quivering of his full bottom lip as he  
looked up at Lacy with her Cheshire Cat-like grin.  
"It's a kick, ain't it?" she asked, and threw him a damp towel.  
End Chapter 4  
Zend yoor commentz 2  
'lacadiva@aol.com'  
LITTLE MONSTERS (5/6)  
by  
Lacadiva (@aol.com)  
December 1, 1997  
Disclaimer in Part 1.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Investor's Bank  
  
Peyton Grey was a happy man. He was feeling downright giddy. Everything was  
going according to plan. Everything, that is, accept for the addition of the  
FBI agents, and Dr. Vorcek.  
When he felt Vorcek die, Peyton was angry, but not because the old man was dead.  
He'd been slowly killing the old man himself for the last ten years anyway. He  
was angry that someone else had cheated him out of the pleasure of snuffing the  
doctor. What really angered him was that the killer was Lacy.  
Lacy was good, he thought, as he slowly emptied the conference room safe of  
several hundred plastic capsules of the booster medicine and piled it into a  
metal brief case. She was subtle and quick; she never lingered for her own  
personal pleasure, like he did. What good was having such incredible abilities  
if you denied yourself pleasure?  
As for the FBI agents, they had made it necessary for Peyton to improvise a bit,  
but it only once again proved his superiority. The federal agents would  
actually be quite useful. He knew Mulder was on the way, and he knew Lacy had  
introduced him to the booster. Once introduced, there was no turning back. He  
could use the addiction that would surely come against Mulder, convince him to  
assist in his get away with the promise of a healthy supply, and then he'd  
simply dispose of the agent. And if the addiction wasn't enough to convince  
him, it was quite evident from his few trips in and out of Dana Scully's psyche  
that this Mulder character would move heaven and earth for her. Peyton loved  
predictability in people.  
Peyton removed the eleven passports, dropping all but his own into a brass sink  
and lighting a match to the pile. He watched as his former friends' passport  
pictures curled up and burned, sending thin clouds of toxic smoke wafting into  
the air.  
'Call me, Frank,' Peyton thought. In a moment, just as the passports' flames  
were reduced to ashes and embers, the phone rang.  
"Peyton, what you want?"  
"Frank, it's terrible. Terrible." Peyton began loading fat stacks of cash into  
another brief case. "Ginny's dead."  
"Ginny? NO! How?"  
"Lacy killed her. It's time to go, Frank. I think we have to light a fire  
under our plans. We're gonna have to leave the country now. Bring that Agent  
Scully with you. I figure she can help us get out if things get hot."  
"You said I could have her."  
"And you can, soon as we're safely out of the country. Now get rid of anybody  
who knows your comings and goings, grab the redhead and get over here. And  
watch your back. Lacy's out there."  
"I'm on my way. Hey, Peyton? How'd Ginny go?"  
"It was painful."  
"I'm gon' kill Lacy myself."  
"You just be careful Frank. It's just you and me now."  
Peyton hung up the phone. It's just you and me, now, he'd said. He didn't mean  
Franklin. He was talking about the money.  
* * *  
Stafford Hill Grade School  
"Didn't mean to scare you."  
Lacy put the safety back on Mulder's Sig Sauer and handed it to him. His face  
was pale, his stomach fluttering from the anger, fright and elation.  
"How...? The rest of the words got lost.  
Lacy gave Mulder his shirt.  
"I wouldn't go throwing myself in front of an oncoming train, or hopping on top  
of any grenades," Lacy said with a smirk. "Even invincibility is not without  
limits."  
"I should be dead," Mulder said as he buttoned his shirt with shaky fingers. He  
was shaking all over. The shock of it had not yet left him. Lacy had fired at  
him, point blank. He had seen the damage, felt the damage, and knew  
intellectually that one of the most painful and lethal ways of dying was a  
bullet wound to the gut. Yet here he was, still standing, his fingers still  
stained with dried blood, his blood still drying on the floor. At least Lacy  
had had the foresight to spare his white shirt by having him remove it.  
He should have been mad, should have been ready to tear Lacy from limb to limb.  
But he could not stop feeling as if he'd been give a brand new toy. The best  
toy.  
"I still don't get it," Mulder said. "How can this happen?"  
"I'll explain it to you another time." Lacy rubbed her temples as if a serious  
migraine were coming on.  
"I spent half my career getting my ass kicked and losing my gun. Where were you  
when I needed you? Lacy?"  
Sweat was pouring off of Lacy's face as if she'd been standing in the rain. She  
rotated her neck a few times to ease the creeping pain, but it kept coming. She  
rose on shaky legs and then hit the floor. She held her head and fought back  
the urge to scream and vomit. It had never hurt like this before. Lacy blacked  
out.  
Mulder didn't know what else to do. He checked her pulse, which was racing, and  
wiped the sweat from her brow with his sleeve. He lifted her head and placed a  
pillow under it, then took her hand and held it. Her hand was ice-cold and  
clammy. He stroked her forehead, much as she had done him in while in the  
throes of his virus-sickness. Lacy's eyes fluttered and she coughed once as  
consciousness slowly returned.  
"That was Peyton," she said in a raspy whisper. "He knows we're coming." She  
tried to sit up. Mulder helped her, and propped himself against her so she  
could lean back.  
"They're moving your partner."  
"Where?"  
"I can't, it hurts, I can't see right now. You have to find her."  
"How? How do I do this?" he asked as he helped Lacy to her feet.  
"Just put it out there, concentrate. Look for her. You know her better than  
anyone."  
Mulder tried. He didn't know exactly how to do it. He concentrated hard,  
pushed outward, desperate to find Scully the way Lacy had found her. Nothing.  
Mulder picked up a broken chair and slung it against the wall. The crash sent a  
new wave of pain through Lacy's skull.  
"It's not happening! I don't know what I'm doing. I can't...I can't find her!"  
Lacy stood and said moved slowly over to the console and sat down. She removed  
her coat and tied the rubber tubing around her arm.  
"The dosage I gave you...I only gave you a taste. I didn't want you going after  
world domination on the first day."  
"Then give me more."  
"No."  
"How am I supposed to beat this guy if I'm only half as strong as him?"  
"That's what I'm here for," she said as she pierced the vein with the needle.  
"Look at you, you can't even swat a fly right now."  
"You're right, Mulder. And if you take any more of this stuff, this could be  
you. Is being the stronger worth this to you?"  
"I just want enough to guarantee I can stop Peyton Grey."  
"Stop him? You going to bring him to justice?" She pulled the needle from her  
arm and placed her head down, waiting for the drug to work it's magic.  
"You're a fool, Mulder," she continued. "You can't bring him to justice. What  
jail do you think can hold him? What judge can pronounce sentence? You can't  
bring men like him and Vorcek and the rest of them to justice because there is  
no justice. Not for them. There is only retribution."  
"What does that make you?"  
"You know, it's easy to think that you're better than the average junkie, but  
believe me, you both have one thing in common. You think you can control it.  
You can't. You think you're riding it, but it's riding you. Already you're  
craving more. You're tripping on power you haven't even tried yet, Mulder. Now  
who's becoming the monster?"  
"Look, either give it to me, or don't! I don't need to hear your self-righteous  
philosophizing."  
Lacy looked at Mulder. She saw his anger. Felt it. Understood. She held up  
an unused syringe already filled with the green fluid.  
"Don't you have the spray?"  
"All gone. Just the needle. How badly do you want it?"  
Mulder hated needles. He stared at it, considered turning it down, then thought  
of Scully. He reached for it. She snatched it back quickly before Mulder could  
touch it.  
"Don't stare too long into the abyss," she said, and placed the syringe into his  
open hand.  
* * *  
Stafford Hills Lock Up  
Scully woke up and stretched. Her neck and her back were stiff from the old  
mattress. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. When she opened them, she noticed  
that her cell door was sitting open.  
Scully rose and walked toward the door. This could be a trap. She walks out of  
her cell, and Franklin Pickett would yell escaped prisoner and shoot her in the  
back. It wouldn't be a surprise, considering the events that led up to her  
incarceration. But then again, perhaps something was wrong and she should  
investigate.  
Scully wished for her own gun as she slowly and cautiously crept out of the cell  
and moved toward the stairs. She could hear nothing but for the muffled ringing  
of telephones. Why was no one answering them?  
She made her way up the stares and to the door of the office. She saw no  
movement behind the frosted glass. She reached for the knob.  
Something was in the way as she tried to push the door open. She put her  
shoulder into it and pushed harder. Whatever it was moved. She looked inside.  
Sheriff Irving Tucker lay on the floor in a pool of blood.  
Scully's breath caught. She stepped into the office, and three deputies lay  
bleeding one the floor as well. And the phone kept ringing.  
Scully went to each one and checked for vitals. All were dead. It occurred to  
Scully a little too late that Franklin Pickett was not among the dead.  
She raced for the door.  
A long arm wrapped around her throat and pulled her back against a thick, warm  
body. "Not so fast, shorty."  
"You killed them?"  
"No, you killed them. That's the report I'm filing. You used your feminine  
wiles and got stupid old Sheriff Tucker to open the door for you, then you  
grabbed a letter opener and pig-stuck each and every one of them."  
"No one's gonna believe that."  
"Then I guess I can make 'em believe it. Let's go."  
"Where are you talking me?"  
"Peyton wants us over at the Office Park."  
Scully scraped her heel down Franklin's shin. He yelped in pain and surprise.  
She broke away, then kicked the big trooper in the groin. He doubled over and  
grabbed himself, his pale face turning beet red.  
Scully ran to Tucker's body and pulled his service revolver from the sheriff's  
holster. She aimed it at Franklin.  
Franklin looked at her and smiled through his agony. Suddenly the gun was  
moving on it's own. Scully fought to hold on to it, but the barrell of the gun  
was slowly being forced up to aim at Scully.  
"NO!"  
Franklin pulled himself together and stood up. He walked angrily toward Scully  
and physically took the gun from her. Then he punched her. Scully hit the  
floor hard, unconscious.  
"Shoot. I hate it when they pass out."  
Franklin Pickett scooped Dana Scully up off of the floor and carried her out of  
the squad room.  
* * *  
Investor's Bank  
Mulder stepped on the rubber mat that activated the automatic doors. He entered  
with Lacy at his side. The lights were low, and the building empty of workers.  
"She's here," Mulder said with surprise. He had actually found her, felt her.  
He felt the deepest connection with Dana Scully ever. It was as if she were  
wired to a monitor inside his head. His senses were working overtime. He'd  
never experienced anything like this. He could count the rhythm of her  
heartbeats, and tell she was in distress. Mulder wanted nothing more than to  
find her, and bring pain to the one who had brought her distress.  
"Go find her. I'll handle Peyton."  
"No," Mulder said. He knew she was weak. He knew Lacy was dying. "We'll both  
find Scully, then we'll go after Peyton together."  
"Forget it, Mulder. This is my job. This is what I do. I don't know anything  
else. You've got your FBI career, and your partner. You need to find her and  
get out of here as quickly as possible, because they won't allow for witnesses."  
Mulder turned to her with a questioning look. He thought he smelled cigarette  
smoke, but he realized it was only in his head. Before Lacy could say another  
word, he knew.  
"They're coming for you."  
"They know Vorcek is dead, and I haven't reported in, which to them means I'm  
rogue, a liability. Can't have their monsters hanging out in society. There's  
one more injection with my name on it, but it won't be the green stuff this  
time."  
"Then you should leave now, while you can. Just go."  
"And do what? Go where? What are they going to do, kill me? Mulder, I'm  
already dead."  
Mulder couldn't help it; he fumbled by the cuff of her leather coat until he  
found her cool hand, and squeezed it.  
"Besides, you can't handle Peyton alone. If I'm going to hell tonight, I'm  
going to take the devil with me. Find your partner. I'll take care of the  
Peyton Grey."  
She pulled her hand out of Mulder's grip and headed toward a bank of elevators.  
* * *  
Mulder stepped off the elevator and was greeted by frigid air from the over  
working air conditioning system. The silence was so complete, he cleared is  
throat just to see if he could still hear it. He walked in the direction his  
senses dictated, pulling his gun from the back of his pants and holding it  
ready.  
He saw the double doors at the end of the hall and knew that was where his  
partner was being held. He picked up his pace but still kept up his guard.  
It did not register at first what was happening. Mulder realized he had been  
walking an inordinately long time and had yet to reach the door. It seemed like  
it was moving away from him. The faster he moved toward the door, the farther  
the door seemed to retreat from him. Mulder stopped. All the walking had done  
nothing to close the gap of distance. Then Mulder realized someone was playing  
with his head.  
He stopped and closed his eyes, gun held high and ready. He sought the energy  
that had forced this illusion on him. There inside his head he met Franklin  
Pickett. He felt the man laugh.  
Mulder opened his eyes and found he was standing right in front of the co  
nference room door. Another step and he would have gone through it. Mulder  
reached down and touched the gilt knob and turned. It was not locked. He  
counted three to himself and kicked the door open.  
The entire room was in flames.  
* * *  
Lacy walked past a bank of elevators with black mirrored doors and walls. DING!  
She stopped and watched as one of the elevator doors opened. It was empty. She  
realized it had been sent for her. Lacy stepped inside. The door closed.  
Before she could press a floor button the elevator car began to move. It  
ascended faster than the manufacturer would recommend, if it were being powered  
by a conventional energy source. But this had a signature all its own.  
The car stopped abruptly and the door flew open. There was a small stairway and  
a door. Near the door was a sign and an arrow -- ROOF ACCESS. Lacy made her  
way up the steps and walked out onto the roof.  
Peyton Grey was standing right on the edge, as if about to jump. His back was  
to Lacy, but he didn't need to see her to know she was there.  
Lacy stepped closer and tried to read him. He was closed to her. He was  
strong. Stronger than she hoped. This was going to take a while.  
"I'm gonna miss Stafford Hills. Well, maybe not that much."  
Peyton Grey turned and offered Lacy a smile. He hopped down and approached  
Lacy, but left a good ten paces between them.  
"Been a long time, Lacy. Years been good to you?"  
"I've been good. How 'bout you?"  
Peyton laughed. "I'm glad to see you, despite what you might think."  
"Why'd you do it, Peyton?"  
"I had my reasons, thirty-seven million little tax-free reasons. And you know  
how I've always felt about people."  
"There's one thing I need to know before I kill you, Peyton. Why did you leave  
me there? You could have taken me with the rest. We could have all walked out  
of there together. I kept your secret all along. You said you'd come back for  
me."  
Peyton shrugged. "I lied. See, that was your problem, Lacy. You always  
believed what people told you. They told you they were gonna make you like  
Superman. But look at you. You falling apart, girl. They told you you'd be  
serving your country, but what has your country done to serve you? And I heard  
about them funny little cancers they gave you. I'm so sorry. Perhaps I can  
help you out of your misery."  
Lacy reached inside his head but hit another wall. He sent energy back at her,  
triggering the tumor in her head. She collapsed to her knees and let out a  
scream that could be heard over half of Stafford Hills.  
* * *  
Fire raged through the entire room. Very little was left untouched. 'I'm going  
to burn,' Mulder thought. He could not move, except to cover his face. He  
could run not away, he could not proceed. Fear seized him and held him  
powerless. All he could do was stand there a feel the flames lapping violently  
around him, and feel the smoke filling his chest and forcing him to cough. He  
tried to bend his knees to get down low, but even that was more effort that he  
could conjure up. Mulder was going to die.  
Franklin Pickett sat comfortably in a conference room chair watching Mulder. He  
began to laugh, so thoroughly amused was he. Scully sat in a chair opposite  
Pickett, her eyes darting between the gun Pickett was holding on her, and the  
strange behavior of her partner. Her heart nearly leaped from her chest when  
the door opened and Mulder appeared. But then, he immediately let out a cry and  
covered his face as if he were being attacked by a swarm of killer bees. What  
was terrifying him so?  
She knew Pickett was playing his mind games. She didn't know how he could do  
it, but somehow Pickett was making Mulder believe that something was attacking  
him. But what was it? She couldn't see anything!  
She watched her partner as, in his mind, fire leaped onto his right arm and  
began eating away at his clothes, burning into his skin, devouring his flesh.  
He yelled, and began to beat the flames from his arm.  
Scully knew then. Fire. She had seen his reaction to fire before. He had even  
confessed to her his fear of fire. She had to risk being shot by Pickett to  
save her partner from madness and death.  
"Mulder! It's not real!"  
"Hush up!" Pickett said, raising his gun filled hand and threatening to smash  
her with it.  
Mulder could hear a voice, just barely over the roar of the raging fire.  
"Scully!"  
"Mulder! There's no fire!"  
Mulder opened his eyes and found that he was standing in the cool, flame-free  
conference room. He uncovered his face and found Scully and Pickett sitting  
across the room. Mulder aimed his weapon at Pickett. Pickett merely smiled and  
kept his gun trained on Scully's head.  
"You sure looked funny, slapping at nothin'," Pickett said with a toothy grin.  
"Happy to amuse you," Mulder said. He looked at Scully and realized that her  
chin was bruised and she was slightly disheveled.  
"You okay, Scully?"  
Scully nodded noncommittally.  
"Let her go, Frank, and we can call it a day."  
"Who? You mean Red? Can't. She's our ticket out of here."  
"Let her go, and I'll be your ticket."  
"No, Mulder!"  
"Let her go," Mulder demanded. "You can take me. I can get you out of the  
country."  
"Peyton's already got that worked out so we don't need you, bro."  
Mulder raised his hand and made a show of relinquishing his gun, placing it on  
the table and stepping away from it.  
"Mulder...don't!"  
"Hush!" Franklin yelled at Scully. "Women!"  
"Look," said Mulder, slowly moving closer. "Let her go, and I'll do anything I  
can to help you and Peyton get out. I can. I'm one of you now."  
"You like this little redhead, don't you? Don't bother lying to me cause I can  
read you like a book. Let's see what else is up there."  
Mulder could feel Franklin's telepathic fumblings and realized that he was as  
stupid as he acted. His little tricks with the fire and the moving door were  
hardly original ideas. Mulder was able to ride right back on Franklin's energy  
and read enough to know the man had the IQ of a squid. The only reason he wore  
a uniform was because of Peyton, and he had never enforced the law a day in his  
life. Being a deputy was just a way to protect Peyton's interests. And Mulder  
didn't like what he saw in the man's head about Scully. It made his forehead  
and cheeks flush with anger.  
Mulder found something else up there too. It was a surprise at first, but then  
he remembered an earlier conversation when they first arrived to Stafford Hills.  
"Wait till I tell my Uncle Frank, he's a state trooper." Amanda Sheldrake, the  
little post-high school Lolita at the Municipal Building -- this was the Uncle  
Frank to whom she had referred. She was there, in his head, and it wasn't  
pretty. Mulder felt his stomach turn at the thought of what Franklin imagined  
doing to his own niece. Mulder saw the numerous times Franklin had peeped  
through windows, keyholes, "accidentally" walked into her room, and offered  
candy for a kiss closer to the lips than an uncle should. He wanted to beat  
Franklin Pickett to a pulp right there. But he had to save Scully. First.  
"Amanda knows."  
"What?"  
"Amanda, she knows. She knows what you think about her."  
Franklin looked panicked. Mulder could see the gun wavering in his hand.  
"She told your sister," Mulder whispered. "She's telling her right now."  
"Liar! She don't know nothing! I ain't never done nothing to her! I seen her  
but it was by accident! What do you now about it?"  
"Everybody going to know, Franklin. She told your sister, and now she's goint  
to tell everybody. They'll know your secret. They'll know what's in your  
head."  
"No!" Franklin turned the gun on Mulder.  
Guilt, thought Mulder, is one heck of a weapon.  
Scully held her breath. She didn't approve of this, thought Mulder out of his  
mind, but to move or utter a sound right now could mean the end for both of  
them. Pickett was obviously psychotic and one step from pulling the trigger,  
and Mulder had yet to pick his gun back up.  
"Let Scully go," Mulder whispered, walking closer to Franklin, "and I'll make  
sure they leave you alone."  
Franklin leaped to his feet, pushing the chair back against the wall. He held  
the gun so close to Mulder's forehead that Mulder could feel the cold radiating  
off the metal barrell. Mulder didn't blink. He was invincible.  
Scully stood slowly, just out of Franklin's line of vision. She moved slowly  
behind him.  
"Nobody will hurt you," Mulder said, almost cooing as one would to a small child  
who's fallen and skinned his knee. "Nobody will hurt you because of the dirty  
thoughts in your head."  
Franklin was shaking, near tears. This was the thorn in his side, his Achilles  
heel. He loved Amanda since she was a baby, but something strange started  
happening when she became a little girl. He hated himself for it and Peyton  
promised nobody would ever know.  
"Put the gun down," Mulder coaxed.  
Scully saw her one and only chance and took it. She threw herself into F  
ranklin's body, knocking him to the floor. His gun went off as he impacted on  
the polished marble, the bullet finding a home in the tiled ceiling. The gun  
skittered a few feet away, out of sight.  
Mulder leaped atop Franklin and did his best to keep the man down. Franklin may  
be stupid, but he was strong, Mulder thought. Franklin's ham-like fingers  
clenched around Mulder's neck, shutting off his air. Did invincibility cover  
asphyxiation? Mulder wondered?  
Scully moved across the room to Mulder's gun. "Mulder! I have him!"  
Mulder was not in the mood to listen. This pervert had horrible things in mind  
for Scully and Mulder wasn't sure the man deserved to live. Mulder managed to  
break Franklin's hold and punched him in the face. Franklin was dazed, so  
Mulder punched him again. And again. And again for good measure. Franklin lay  
there, eyes closed, mouth opened.  
Mulder stood up, spent from the fight, his knuckles bloodied, and felt himself  
stumble on his own feet as he found his way to Scully. He wrapped his arms  
around her and breathed a deep sign of relief.  
"Mulder, you okay?  
"Yeah. You?"  
"Yeah." Scully gently pulled away and held Mulder's gun out to him.  
"You hang on to it, Scully. You sure you're okay?"  
"Yes. Mulder," she said, tucking her parnter's gun in her waistband behind her  
back. "What in God's name is going on here?"  
"I'll explain later. We have to find Lacy."  
"She's here?"  
"Yes, and I have a feeling she's going to have her hands full."  
Mulder and Scully started for the door. Something went off inside of Mulder's  
head. Franklin's gun. It was already too late.  
It all seemed to move lightening fast for Scully -- too fast to comprehend and  
react to -- but for Mulder, the world slowed down. As he turned around he saw  
Franklin crawling across the floor and reaching for the gun.  
"Scully!"  
Franklin held the gun up and aimed, the barrel pointing just below Scully's  
head. Mulder grabbed Scully, completely covering her with his own body.  
"Mulder, what...!"  
Franklin fired. Once, Twice. Three times.  
Scully felt the impact through Mulder, felt his body jerked as each shot slammed  
into him. Heard the thin sound of pain from his mouth with each shot. She saw  
it in his face. The first bullet hit Mulder in the left shoulder blade. The  
second hit him in the middle of the lower back. The third hit just below the  
first.  
"MULDER!"  
Blood was running from the side of his mouth in a thin river. He gave her a  
weak smile. His mouth moved, but no sound came out.  
"Mulder!"  
He looked into her eyes for a second, and then light in his eyes died.  
"Mulder, no," she said, her voice cracking with grief.  
Mulder fell, knocking Scully to floor and landing on top of her. The force of  
the fall knocked the wind from her. The back of her head hurt from where it hit  
the floor. She lay stunned, Mulder's blood covering her, Mulder's still warm  
body on top of her.  
Mulder's dead. Mulder's dead. Those bullets were meant for me. Mulder's dead.  
The words played like a litany. Something inside Scully's head simply shut  
down. The room went black.  
Franklin Pickett stood up and kicked the two. "Dang!" he yelled. He was  
bleeding profusely from the mouth and from a cut over his eye from Mulder's  
pummeling.  
"See what you get!" he shouted.  
He stuck his gun in his belt and left the conference room in search of Peyton.  
* * *  
"I'M IN CHARGE!"  
Lacy forced herself back on her feet and leaped on Peyton. She slammed his head  
in the ground, again and again, then pushed off and landed deftly on her feet.  
Using her Doc Martens as weapons she kicked Peyton in the face and sent him  
rolling across the floor of the roof. She kicked him again. And again. She  
grabbed him by the back of his jacket and lifted him up.  
"Here's a happy little thought for you!" she yelled. And then she invaded his  
brain. This time she found a way in and let loose everything she had. She hit  
him with a barrage of fears and frightening images that scared her even to  
conjure up. Peyton screamed and scrambled to get a way.  
There was a sound from above. It was a helicopter. Lacy fought to keep focused  
on what she was doing. But that split second diversion was all Peyton needed.  
Peyton slipped into Lacy's psyche and let her have it.  
Searing pain tore through Lacy's head like a red-hot poker in through the brain.  
She yell again and released Peyton, falling back against a brick wall, feet  
tripping over buckets and rags and other window cleaning equipment. It hurt so  
badly she could barely see.  
Peyton climbed shakily to his feet and brushed off his suit jacket. He removed  
a white handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket and wiped away the blood from  
his lip.  
"You fight like an alley cat. Got me all excited!" he said as he approached  
Lacy.  
She tried to push away from the wall, to resume the fight, but there was not  
strength left. What point was there to struggling? What need was there to  
survive? Lacy slid down the rough brick wall and felt the world begin to slip  
away.  
"Oh, don't go yet, Lacy girl. The fun's just begun. You ever been dropped out  
of a helicopter?"  
"I'm going to kill you."  
"I don't think so."  
Peyton grabbed Lacy by the collar of her coat and pulled her up on her feet.  
She was like a rag doll, dead weight, but Peyton had no trouble pulling her  
about.  
The helicopter pilot saw Peyton with the semi-conscious woman in his arms and  
climbed out of the helicopter, ducking from the still revolving blades.  
"Sir! Do you need an ambulance? Can I help you?"  
"No, but you can take a flying leap."  
The pilot did not know what came over him, but he turned and ran and kept  
running until he reached the edge of the building. Then he jumped.  
Peyton laughed.  
He propped Lacy up against a wall. "You stay there, now, y'hear?"  
Peyton wandered back by the entrance to the roof and grabbed his two brief  
cases. He ran to the helicopter and tossed them inside. When he turned back  
for Lacy, she was gone.  
"Now I though I told you to stay put?"  
Lacy came out of nowhere and landed on Peyton's back. They rolled along the  
roof floor until they came to the edge. Lacy, on top, pulled Peyton up and  
forced him toward the edge. His hands reached out and grabbed her face. His  
fingers went for her eyes. She pulled back as far as she could.  
"PEYTON!"  
Lacy turned and faced the barrel of Franklin Pickett's gun. He fired. The  
bullet entered her head just above her left eye.  
She let go of Peyton and staggered back. She reached up and touched the hole in  
her head. There was very little blood. That's not a good sign she thought.  
Lacy didn't even feel it when she fell. All she could think of was how lovely  
was the sky.  
* * *  
Mulder's eyes felt like they had grit in them, and his mouth was dry as if it  
had been stuffed with cotton. He was cold, really cold. When he opened his  
eyes the first thing he saw was red hair splayed on the floor. And then he  
remembered.  
Mulder pushed up on his elbows and found Scully lying unconscious under him. He  
pushed up onto his knees and noticed the blood. He remembered the shots fired,  
and the pain; still he checked Scully to make sure the bullets hadn't torn  
through him and hit his partner.  
He lifted her shirt and saw, to his relief, that despite the blood, there were  
no wounds. He felt the back of her head and found a small knot where she'd  
undoubtedly banged her head on the way down. Mulder brushed the hair from her  
face and kissed her forehead.  
"You'll be fine," he whispered. He stood and felt around his body. The burning  
in his back let him know he was still mending. Three shots to the back, yet he  
was standing, breathing, living. Mulder smiled. He could get used to this.  
Relieved that Scully would recover, and that he was still alive, he went in  
search of Lacy.  
* * *  
"No!" Peyton yelled, "SHE WAS MINE!"  
Franklin thought he had done a good thing, but now he had gone and made Peyton  
mad. Bad move.  
"I'm sorry, Peyton, but I thought she was gonna kill you!"  
"SHE WAS MINE!"  
"She killed Ginny! I owed her!"  
Peyton walked over to Franklin, breathing hard like a bull about to charge.  
Franklin cringed.  
"Don't hit me, Peyton!"  
Peyton reached out, just until Franklin ducked, then grabbed the man and pulled  
him into a hug.  
"I'm not going to hit you Frank. I'm never gonna hit you again, unnerstand?"  
"Thank you. I'm sorry I shot Lacy. Is she dead?"  
"No, but I bet she wish she was. I thought we'd drop her out of the helicopter,  
see if she can bounce."  
Franklin giggled. "Can I push her?"  
"You wanna take away all my fun?"  
"Okay, you push her. We ready to go now?"  
"Yeah, we're ready to go."  
"You got our money?"  
"It's in the helicopter."  
"I'll get Lacy."  
Peyton started walking toward the helicopter while Franklin went to Lacy. He  
kicked her once. She didn't respond. Her eyes were open but it was as if she  
wasn't even there.  
"Git up!" he demanded. He reached down and grabbed Lacy's arm and pulled it  
over his shoulder, and dragged her to the helicopter. He dropped her at  
Peyton's feet.  
"Oh, Frank, there's one more thing I gotta take care of."  
"What's that?"  
Franklin had no idea what caused it, but he heard a tremendous snap, like wood  
being broken in half. And then there was pain, and he found himself sprawled on  
the roof floor. He looked down at his legs and screamed. The bones in both  
legs had been snapped like twigs and his legs were splayed in the most inhuman  
position.  
"Thanks for all your help Frank, but I'll be taking this trip by myself."  
"Please, Peyton! NO! Please!"  
Franklin heard another snap. It was his neck.  
* * *  
Scully moaned as she came too. Something wet and cold was all over her. She  
opened her eyes and blinked. She saw the ceiling, which meant nothing until she  
saw the bullet hole.  
"Mulder!"  
Scully sat up. Mulder was there earlier, he'd fallen on top of her, before she  
passed out. Mulder was dead. Three bullets in the back. There was no way he  
could have survived. But where was he?  
She looked down at her clothes, soaked with Mulder's blood. His blood also  
stained the floor where they lay. But there was no sign of Mulder. She could  
only imagine that Franklin had taken his body. But why?  
Scully rose on shakey legs. There was pain in her lower back. She realized she  
had fallen with Mulder's gun still tucked into the back of her clothes. She was  
going to have a nasty bruise. Thank God the safety was on.  
Scully headed for the door to find Franklin, Peyton, or Lacy. It didn't matter.  
Someone was going to pay for Mulder.  
* * *  
Mulder hit the roof just as Franklin Pickett's neck was wrung like a chicken's.  
He saw Lacy on the ground, trying to move. A quick sweeping assessment of Lacy  
told him she was dying.  
"Lacy!"  
Mulder didn't mean for that to slip out. Peyton looked up at the sound of his  
voice.  
"It's the FBI boy! You still alive? Look at you!" Peyton said with a laugh.  
Mulder looked down at himself. His clothes were soaked with blood and he was as  
white as a sheet. He looked disoriented and he could barely stand on his feet.  
He could still feel the wounds in his back closing and the bones fusing back  
together.  
"I'm taking a little trip. Care to go along?"  
"Actually, I don't think you're going anywhere."  
"That so?"  
Peyton put a foot on Lacy's throat.  
"She's alive, for the moment. Make one move and I'll be forced to take a step."  
"Leave her. Take me."  
"What on earth for? Martyrs are no fun. Your partner, however....?"  
Mulder turned to the roof entrance. There was Scully, gun ready.  
Her mouth dropped and her eyes widened when she saw her partner there, bloody  
but very much alive.  
"MULDER! How...how...?"  
She saw Peyton Grey and trained the gun on him.  
"HANDS IN THE AIR!"  
"Oh, for goodness sake," said Peyton shaking his head. "You two are rele  
ntless."  
"HANDS IN THE AIR NOW!"  
Suddenly Scully couldn't breath. It was as if the air had suddenly disappeared,  
or some cosmic vacuum had just sucked all the oxygen away. A deep, strangling  
sound escaped her as she reached for her throat, dropping her gun.  
"Scully!" Mulder raced to Scully and caught her before she hit the ground. Her  
own hands were wrapped around her throat. Mulder tried to pry her fingers away,  
but they would not be moved.  
"It's gonna be a pity to kill you two, Fox Mulder," Peyton said.  
"Then don't. Let her go."  
Mulder felt a mental tug. He looked down at Lacy and saw her eyes. She winked.  
Mulder knew, keep Peyton occupied.  
Mulder tried to force his way into Peyton's head. Peyton reacted as if he'd  
been tickled. He reached in and found Mulder's must vulnerable spot and  
laughed.  
Mulder got the signal from Lacy and threw himself across Scully to protect her.  
Lacy pushed with her all she had left. She found the fuel tank. All she need  
to do was create one little spark...  
The helicopter exploded.  
Peyton was too preoccupied with conjuring up a nightmare for Mulder. He heard  
the explosion, but there was no time to react. He didn't even have time to  
scream before one of the broken, flaming blades whirled his way, slicing his  
head cleanly off. The head flew over the roof and smashed to the ground, while  
the body collapsed like a marionette whose string were unceremoniously snipped.  
Invincibility had it limits.  
Mulder looked over at the twitching body, then turned away. Small fires had  
broken out in places where burning pieces of the chopper had landed.  
Mulder rose off of Scully. She was no longer fighting for air.  
"Mulder, what happened?"  
"Peyton lost his head."  
He pulled his partner to her feet and held on to her arms, helping her steady  
herself.  
"No, I mean you! You! I saw Pickett shoot you. There was blood."  
"I'm okay."  
"Mulder you have three bullet wounds in your back," she demanded as she tried to  
pull Mulder's shirt away and examine the damage.  
"No, I don't."  
"I don't understand."  
"I'll explain later. You going to be okay?"  
"Besides being terribly confused, I think so."  
"Starting to get a little hot up here."  
He turned to where Lacy was still lying semi-conscious. Scully saw and knelt  
down to get a look at the wound on Lacy's forehead and check her vitals.  
"Is she still alive?" Mulder asked. Another bit of the helicopter exploded and  
sent flaming bits soaring.  
"Not for long. Help me get her off this roof."  
end Chapter Five  
Please send your comments to moi, 'lacadiva@aol.com'.  
Are we there yet?  
LITTLE MONSTERS (6/6)  
by  
Lacadiva (@aol.com)  
December 1, 1997  
Disclaimer in Part 1.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Investor's Bank  
Mulder stood in the parking lot, looking up at the fire as it raged on the roof,  
slowly making its way down one floor at a time. Scully sat with Lacy, keeping  
tabs on her vital signs until the paramedics arrived. She was shocked that  
someone who had sustained a gun shot wound in the head as she had would still  
be alive and somewhat lucid.  
She was even more shocked when Lacy asked to sit up.  
"I don't think that's a good idea."  
Lacy held out a hand. Mulder reached down and took it and gave her a pull.  
Lacy sat up and held her head down, obviously in pain.  
"Mulder," Lacy said, "I have to get out of here. They'll be here shortly."  
"Who'll be here?" asked Scully.  
"You're in no condition to drive," Mulder told Lacy.  
"Drive where?" Scully demanded.  
"I'll be fine."  
"Lacy, let me drive you where you're going. Scully can say and wait for the  
police."  
"Would someone please tell Scully what's going on?" Scully cried.  
Mulder turned to her. "I have to do something. It won't take long. Stay here,  
I'll be back as fast as I can."  
"Mulder, no."  
"I'll be back and I will explain everything."  
Mulder helped Lacy to her feet. Scully was surprised to see the woman actually  
able to walk on her own.  
* * *  
"Here's a little souvenir."  
Mulder looked away from the darkening road at Lacy. He held out his hand. She  
placed something small, metallic and cool in his palm. Mulder held it close and  
saw it was the slug from Lacy's head.  
"Don't say I never gave you anything," she said with a waning smile.  
They were back on the road to the Stafford Hills Grade School. Mulder had no  
idea why she wanted to go back there when she should be heading away from her  
captors.  
"There's something there I need," was all she would say.  
When they reached the old school house, she told Mulder to turn off the i  
gnition.  
"This is where you get out," she said to Mulder.  
He reached up and turned on the light. "Lacy, I can help you."  
"Help me what?"  
"The men who did this to you. They have to pay. They have to be held ac  
countable."  
"To whom?"  
"To you, to me. To the public."  
"No," she said with a weak laugh. "Tell the public there's a drug that can make  
a man or woman virtually invincible... Do you really think they'd do the right  
thing? You know what it's made of. Do you think the men responsible will admit  
to any of this? Be assured they've already anticipated a breach in security and  
are at this very minute covering up every possible loose end."  
"So that's it. We continue allow them to get away with it, participate in their  
acts of duplicity with our silence, by turning our heads, by hiding the truth to  
protect the very men who would destroy us as a means to their diabolitcal end.  
I'm sick of it. I can't do that anymore. Somebody has to tell the truth."  
"You'll be shouting at the ocean, Mulder."  
"They I guess I'll have to keep shouting, 'till someone hears me."  
Lacy winced as a jolt of pain shot through her head. She reached into her  
inside coat pocket and pulled out her silver metal case, and handed it to  
Mulder.  
"This is the last of it. Your partner Scully, can analyze it. You'll need this  
if you want to expose them. I pray you can, Mulder."  
Mulder took the case and opened it. There were four green liquid-filled  
syringes. He licked his bottom lip, and felt a strange hunger overtake him.  
"Don't," said Lacy. "Don't even think about it."  
Mulder dropped the case into his pocket, and nodded.  
"They're coming," she said.  
Mulder reached for the ignition.  
"No. Get out. Be my witness. Tell them what you see. I know this sounds  
dorky, but I want you to..."  
"What?"  
"I want somebody to remember me."  
"I'll remember you."  
She smiled. "Yeah, right. Now get out."  
The door to the driver's side opened on it's own. Mulder got out and closed the  
door.  
Lacy climbed over into the driver's seat. She turned the ignition, gunned the  
motor a few times. And then, she let down all her mental defenses. She wanted  
him to know. Needed him to know.  
It hit Mulder like slap to the side of his head. He saw what she had planned  
and Mulder lunged for the car door.  
"Lacy, don't!"  
He banged a palm on the window, as if she'd stop and let him back in. She  
simply smiled and waved.  
The engine gunned again and the car started moving.  
"LACY!"  
He saw in his head the explosives she had attached to the bottom of the car. He  
also saw and heard the convoy of black ops trucks and jeeps moving in their  
direction. He thought he caught a whiff of cigarette smoke.  
And then, just as it had that first day he met Lacy, time ceased for the moment  
to exist.  
When it returned, Lacy's car was at the bottom of the hill.  
"No!"  
The explosion sent a ball of fire high into the air, lighting up the burgeoning  
night, the force of it throwing Mulder to the ground.  
He lay there and watched as the black ops convoy engaged its prey, as Keflar  
-suited personnel quickly surrounded the vehicle and attacked it with fire  
extinguishers.  
* * *  
Watching the fire made him long for yet another cigarette. He reached for his  
pack of Morelys and realized he already had a fresh one in his mouth waiting to  
be lit. He pulled out his lighter.  
He was angry. He'd wanted her alive. He'd wanted to see her again after all  
these years. After all, he'd practically considered her a daughter. Not that  
he ever really treated her like one, but it was his insisting that kept her  
alive all these years, despite the early death of the project. He knew about  
the tumors, but he still could not bring himself to having her destroyed. He  
was so proud of what he had helped make her.  
One of the men under his charge wandered over, pulling his Kevlar hood off.  
"She's dead, sir."  
"Show me the body," the Cancer Man insisted.  
The younger man waved to the others.  
Two men carrying a stretcher approached. On the stretcher was the burnt remains  
of the passenger behind the wheel. One could hardly tell it was human. Smoke  
still wafted from the charred, disfigured corpse, and the Cancer Man turned his  
head away as the smell of burning flesh became stronger.  
"Dispose of it."  
The men with the stretcher walked away.  
Cancer Man took a long drag of his cigarette, and remembered Lacy as a girl.  
* * *  
Mulder saw the charred body from his vantage point and turned away. He'd  
forgotten all about the lost time. He saw Cancer Man being presented the body  
like a roasted pig on a platter, and he wanted the man dead. He wanted him to  
die.  
Mulder reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver case. From it, he  
removed one of the syringes.  
"Don't stare too long into the abyss," Lacy had said. But Mulder had the  
perfect justification. Sometimes to kill a monster, you had to become one.  
He rolled up a sleeve, and didn't even bother looking for a vein. He jabbed it  
into his arm and pushed the plunger down.  
Mulder lay back and allowed the poison to infiltrate his system. And then he  
turned his attention to Cancer Man.  
He could see him at the bottom of the hill, supervising his men as they s  
anitized the area of all traces of Lacy's presence. Soon they'd make their way  
up to the school house to sanitize it, to destroy her equipment and erase all  
evidence of her existence.  
Mulder felt power coursing through him like blood. He also felt his anger for  
the wrongs against the people he knew and loved build to a fever pitch. He had  
to kill the Cancer Man. He had to kill him now. For Samantha. For his  
parents. For Scully. And now, for Lacy.  
He zeroed in on Cancer Man, saw him lighting yet another cigarette. Mulder  
reached inside and found the man's heart, heard his tarnished heart beating.  
Then slowly, gradually quickened its pace, making it work twice as hard, three  
times as hard as it had too.  
He saw the Cancer Man stop in mid-speech and rub his chest. Mulder pushed  
farther, quickening the pace even harder. He saw the fear on Cancer Man's face  
as his chest seized and ached. He saw the Cancer Man stagger back toward his  
car, still holding his chest, his eyes tearing, his face beet red, his hands  
trembling.  
And then his conscience jumped on him like a rabid dog. No, Mulder. This is  
murder. You're one of the good guys.  
Mulder found himself having a two-way argument with himself. Part of him wanted  
to take the Cancer Man's heart in his mental hand and squeeze it like a tomato.  
The other part of him continued to insist that justice must be done. Had to be  
done. The line had to be drawn.  
Mulder pulled back and released his prey, then lay flat on his back, looking up  
at the stars. He wanted to cry. But there wasn't time. He had to get back to  
Scully. He gathered himself up and headed back to meet his partner.  
* * *  
Cancer Man let go of his shirt front and took a deep breath of relief. The pain  
had subsided. He'd never felt pain like that before. He thought for a moment  
that once back home he should arrange to have himself checked out. Then, by  
force of habit, he brought the still burning cigarette up to his lips and took  
yet another drag.  
"Let's get moving!" he ordered his men, and climbed into his black sedan.  
* * *  
FBI Headquarters  
Mulder let the strap fall from his mouth. Caught. "Scully, this isn't what you  
think."  
Mulder could tell how hard it was for her to keep it together. She was running  
on adrenaline. She'd had as little sleep as he and had been through so much  
more. She had almost died. And as it was so many times before, it was his  
fault.  
"No? Then what is it, Mulder?" She could not hold it together any longer. Her  
eyes turned red, stung by tears. "I haven't been able to reach you for hours.  
I was afraid you were dead already."  
Mulder trained his eyes on his arm, not wanting to look at her. A vein was  
standing up, blue-green and engorged with blood, ready to receive. "Right now,  
I wish I was."  
"Don't say that. We can beat this. Please, put it down, Mulder," she said as  
she slowly approached, holding out a hand. "You don't know what's in there.  
You don't know the long-term effects. It's destroyed so many people already.  
Don't let it destroy you."  
"I did it for you, Scully." A tear streamed down his cheek.  
"I know you did. But I'm safe now. You don't have to do this anymore. Please,  
Mulder. Put it down."  
"I can't Scully. I tried. I can't beat them without it."  
"Yes, we can, Mulder."  
"Because we're right? Because we're the good guys? No. Only the strong  
survive, Scully. Only the strong can beat them. Even if it kills me."  
"Do you really believe that?"  
"No. I want to believe."  
"Then put it down."  
"I don't have the strength. I don't think I can."  
"We have to try. Mulder, please. Please."  
Mulder jammed the needle into his arm.  
"NO!"  
He could not push the plunger down. He sat there watching as blood seeped up  
around the needle.  
"Help me," he said, his voice cracking as tears stung his eyes.  
Scully went to him, pulled the needle from his arm and pulled him to her. She  
stroked his hair, and felt his body tremble against her.  
"You know I will," she said. Scully squatted down to look Mulder in the face.  
"We'll go back to my place. We'll stay there as long as it takes for this stuff  
to work out of your system. Let me take care of you. Okay?"  
Mulder shook as a pain spasm tore through his chest like a precursor to a heart  
attack. He closed his eyes, squeezing out tears. "It hurts!"  
"I know..."  
"Don't tell anyone."  
"I won't. No one has to know."  
The chest pain began to subside. "I don't know if I'm strong enough for this."  
"Then we'll have to find the strength, Mulder." She took his hands and squeezed.  
He squeezed back and tried to smile.  
"Just so long as you know what you're getting yourself into," Mulder said. "I'm  
a real pain when I'm sick."  
"When you're sick?"  
Mulder tried to smile. He let Scully pull him to his feet. She grabbed his  
jacket and led him to the door.  
* * *  
Three Days Later  
Mulder woke up in Scully's bed. The sheets were cool under him. The room was  
dim, as if twilight were descending upon the city. He ached from head to toe,  
felt as if there was barely enough strength to move. He looked to the side and  
found Scully sitting there, smiling at him. She looked relieved. And very,  
very beautiful.  
"Finally," she said. "Any longer and I'd have to charge you rent."  
Mulder moved his mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. He tried again.  
"How am I doing?"  
"You tell me."  
"I feel like I've been through a wheat thrasher. Twice."  
"I think that would have hurt a lot less. You were pretty bad off. You gave me  
quite a scare. The hallucinations, the shakes, the vomiting, the sweating. You  
went through four sets of clean sheets."  
"Did I hurt you?"  
"I survived. And so did you."  
She reached to the bedside table and picked up a white bowl with a spoon in it.  
"This is chicken broth. Think you could put down a little?"  
"I'll give it a try."  
She held the spoon to Mulder lips. He tasted it, and immediately coughed.  
"Slowly," Scully warned, then offered him a bit more.  
It went down a lot smoother, and triggered his appetite.  
"How long was I out of it?"  
"It's Thursday evening."  
Mulder whistled through his teeth.  
"Have you filed the report?"  
"Yes. Inconclusive. There's a copy for you, when you're up to it."  
"And Skinner?"  
"I told him you had a virus."  
"That's an understatement."  
Mulder sat up, pulling himself forward.  
"I should go."  
"Don't be ridiculous. Stay till morning at least. I'll drive you home."  
"Thank you."  
"Sure. You want some more broth?"  
"Yeah."  
Scully reached for the bowl, and brought it around, but stopped. Her eyes lost  
their focus, and her mouth fell slack as if some internal battery had just run  
down. Mulder's stomach clenched in fear.  
"Scully? SCULLY?"  
"They sharpen their tongues like swords and aim their words like deadly arrows,"  
she said. But it was not Scully's voice. It was Lacy.  
Mulder shook his head. Was this yet another hallucination? Had the green stuff  
not fully worked its way through and out of his system?  
"'They shoot from ambush at the innocent man; they shoot at him suddenly,  
without fear. They encourage each other in evil plans, they talk about hiding  
their snares; they say, 'who will see them?' They plan their injustice and say,  
We have devised a perfect plan.'"  
Mulder recognized the words. Lacy had read some of these very words to him  
aloud. Psalms, Old Testament.  
Scully/Lacy continued.  
"'But God will shoot them with arrows; suddenly they will be struck down.' You  
are the arrow, Fox Mulder. And one day, you will bring them to ruin. Not  
everything dies."  
And then, Scully dipped the spoon into the broth and held it up. She saw the  
look of shock on Mulder's face.  
"Mulder? What? What's the matter?"  
"Didn't you hear yourself?"  
"Hear myself what? Mulder, what are you talking about?"  
"You quoted Psalm."  
"I quoted what? Mulder, are you hallucinating again? Mulder, What is it?"  
"Nothing," he said. He reached out and stroked Scully cheek. "Nothing at all."  
* * *  
Costa Carreras, Mexico  
She lay on the table staring up at the slow-spinning ceiling fan. It did  
nothing to quell the heat or the flies. Flies in a sterile environment!  
The nurse appeared over her and smiled.  
"How are you feeling?" she asked with barely a trace of a Spanish accent.  
"Sick. Really sick."  
"Not a surprise."  
The nurse held a paper cup to her lips, and she drank a small amount of water.  
It didn't make her feel any better.  
"The doctor is here now," the nurse announced and stepped aside.  
The doctor was short, very grey, but had a wide smile. He spoke only in  
Spanish. The nurse translated as he spoke.  
"He says you are not yet responding to the treatment. This is not surprising,  
because of the advanced nature of your cancer. He says he is surprised you are  
still alive. He says you must be patient with the drugs, for these are all  
experimental drugs, and are considered unorthodox treatment methods in the  
United States. He also says...."  
Her mind started to drift away. She'd barely made it to Mexico. Her getaway  
vehicle came very close to being discovered. And it was a good thing the fire  
had time enough to burn before her employers got there, or they would have known  
immediately that the charred body was not hers, but Ginny Scurlock's. Smart of  
her to keep the body in the trunk of her vehicle.  
Lacy thought of Mulder and his partner Scully. If she lived through this, she  
would have to pay them a friendly visit someday.  
She relaxed into the thin pillow and willed the drugs to fulfill their promise  
of a cure.  
The End  
Please send your comments to 'Lacadiva@aol.com'. Thanks sooo much. 


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